


Bellissimi Mostri

by narkao (sophluorescent)



Series: Monster Verse [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 3Baek, Alternate Universe - Organized Crime, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Injury, Clones, Explicit Sexual Content, Gambling, Gun Violence, M/M, Major Character Death + Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophluorescent/pseuds/narkao
Summary: “We’d be indestructible were we machines,” Bāekhyun murmurs, drawing Baekhyun’s attention back onto him.“You’d be cheap and easy to replace,” Baekhyun corrects.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Byun Baekhyun
Series: Monster Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037301
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	Bellissimi Mostri

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve read Expendables, then you’re a little familiar with the dynamics of this work, which picks up after the events of that story. It can be read as a standalone quite easily, so if PWP isn’t your thing, you should be fine skipping on it! 
> 
> I’ve been a bit foggy lately just due to a lot of stress in my personal life, but I wanted to finish this up and sort of… have something to focus on writing for a while. I’ve been working on a lot of deadlines lately and have found them more draining than actually worthwhile these days, so this was a nice… low stress break for me. 
> 
> Part of the inspiration for finishing this story is actually due to the lovely header art for this fic! It was commissioned from [res / ffrshfrnd](https://twitter.com/ffrshfrnd)! I highly recommend commissioning Res if you ever get the chance, they were wonderful to work with.
> 
> As always, check out the tags and warnings. Lastly, if you enjoy reading, please feel free to shoot me a comment or kudos. I also have a curiouscat (which will be linked in the end notes), if you’re shy! ♡
> 
> Key: Baëkhyun (X-BH) & Bāekhyun (Monster BH); Imagine Baekhyun however you wish!

“Are they always so stoic?” Yixing wonders, regarding the two clones stood against Baekhyun’s shoulders. They shift under his gaze—uncomfortable at the attention. Yixing has always had an… intense way of appraising things—of appraising _people_. Even Baekhyun shivers beneath that stare from time to time.

Baekhyun leans against the bar, propping his head on his hand, “In public? Yeah,” he drawls. Yixing glances at him, one brow arched to a curious point.

“But in private it’s the opposite?” He surmises. Baekhyun shrugs as if to say, _“Perhaps._ ” Delighting in the way Yixing’s gaze darkens, returns to the clones. Yixing continues, his curiosity more evident now, “What are they like? The same as you? Different?”

“Needier,” Baekhyun says. “Mouthier,” he remedies, glancing at Bāekhyun, whose lip twitches at the implication, his gaze hardening into something just shy of challenging. “You should see Jongdae about making one of yourself—have a little fun.”

At this, though, Yixing laughs—a sharp, barking sound—and brushes him off, “No thanks. If I want an easy fuck, I just need to walk into the club.” He regards the clones again, thoughtful. “To be completely honest, as _exciting_ as I’m sure fucking yourself could be… it seems like a bad idea. You’ll get a vanity complex,” he warns.

“Mhm, I suppose it’s good to be wary,” Baekhyun murmurs, reaching over to slide a hand up Baëkhyun’s jacketed arm. “But… forgive me if I don’t care.”

Yixing shrugs, blinking, and finally, his face assumes that business-like sobriety Baekhyun’s been waiting for. He hadn’t come just to visit—no matter how much he enjoys Yixing’s company—and it appears that, with that short exchange, Yixing’s ready to finally get to work. The club owner straightens up, pushing his hair back from his forehead, and coaxes Baekhyun to follow him with a crook of his finger.

Baekhyun follows him into the back of the club and down a thin hallway, to the seedy office at the very end. A computer system—three monitors with both indoor and outdoor security feeds pulled up on each—lies in wait, some chronically tired university student sat in the chair in front of it. They glance up at Yixing and Baekhyun’s entrance, eyes falling on the two identical clones that follow them inside, and then, they wisely set their headphones over their ears and crank up their music’s volume.

Baekhyun takes a seat opposite Yixing’s desk. The clones both walk to the wall and take up a stance there—relaxed, yet still keyed-in to their environment. Still _ready_ at a moment’s notice.

“Your droid footage was run through a few programs,” Yixing says, dragging Baekhyun’s attention back to him. “We identified a few faces worth checking out—politicians and judges for the most part, though there’s some corporate.” He pulls a USB flash-drive from his locked desk drawer, setting it in Baekhyun’s hand. “It’s good blackmail material. On the _other_ thing you requested…” He takes a seat and opens another drawer in his desk, retrieving a laptop. He boots it up and finally, pulls up a feed of transactions and deposits. “Jongdeok came up clean. I had some of my associates take a look, but the finances all check out. He’s not stealing from us.”

“Do you know who is?” Baekhyun asks, glancing only cursorily at the feed. “It has to be him, Junmyeon, or Baekbeom, I suppose.”

“What do you do if it’s your brother?” Yixing asks, probably because he knows as well as Baekhyun that Junmyeon’s not the one filtering additional funds—not with how anal he is about the damn books.

“I imagine I’ll have to teach him a lesson about stealing from the family,” Baekhyun says, though he’s not sure he’ll do anything of the sort. He and Baekbeom may be at odds, but their loyalty runs deep. If anything, Baekhyun will simply make sure his brother _knows_ that he’s noticed the missing funds. It’ll be a warning, but not one so blatant as to shatter their loyalties. “Has there been anything else?” He asks.

Yixing drums his fingers on the wood of the desk, shutting the laptop with his other hand. “Just some _talk_ ,” he murmurs. “Mostly the same old things. Jongdeok _has_ been more outspoken about wanting you dead, though,” he says.

“Jongdeok always wants me dead, but I’m his best business man. He’s not going to usurp me. Yet,” Baekhyun says. “Unless you’ve got him on record making actual plans?”

“Of course not. He doesn’t know how you get your information, but he’d have to be a fool to come to one of our clubs and rent one of our androids. Plus, he’s wary of Jongdae, as always.”

“Jongdae doesn’t have much interest in mob politics,” Baekhyun murmurs. “If his brother _realized_ that, we’d probably get along just fine by now. I don’t want to be _Hyungnim_ , and I sure as hell don’t want Jongdae to be.”

Yixing shrugs. “Mhm, I agree, but… the feud’s gone on so long that you may as well give up ever hoping for it to change. That being said, it does remind me of something else the mics picked up.” He glances past Baekhyun, where his employee watches the camera feed, then decides the kid’s not going to be able to do anything with whatever he’s going to say. “Jongdae’s name has been coming up a lot more often. Your… many faces—“ he waves his hand over the clones, ”—have gotten the attention of the few people who’ve met them. I believe most of them think them to be droids.”

Which they aren’t. It’s why the clones are such impressive guards, such impressive _eyes_ to have out on the streets. There is no coding here, and _nothing_ beats the human mind.

“Many of them want to commission the same work from Jongdae. I’d make an effort to pay for his silence. See that he doesn’t make more like yours,” Yixing says.

Baekhyun relaxes, “He’s already been paid off. He won’t be working with anyone other than those I approve. Besides, the lab is a side-hustle in comparison to the casino halls Jongdeok has him running, so he doesn’t exactly have the time to make clones all day long.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” Yixing agrees pleasantly, relaxing in his seat. “And that’s all I have for you, so if you don’t mind…”

Baekhyun stands, cracking a grin. He reaches out to clasp Yixing’s hand in his, patting his shoulder, and with a singular word of goodbye, he’s _leaving_. The clones fold into step behind him, helping to sift through the crowded club. Outside, a car waits—sleek, black, innocuous. Baekhyun pulls open the door, gesturing for Baëkhyun to slip inside. He follows, settling into the middle seat, and Bāekhyun takes up the seat next to the door—pulling it shut.

He sets his palms down on either clone’s lap, but it’s Baëkhyun who shifts, lips parting ever so slightly, and leans _into_ Baekhyun’s touch, curling against his side. Baëkhyun always gives him that satisfaction of watching him melt—Baekhyun _loves_ it.

Bāekhyun’s more… reserved, if only just. His thighs fall farther open, but his body rests against the door, putting distance between them in a futile grasp for control.

Control, control _, control_. That’s what this always is, isn’t it?

Baekhyun’s more than used to playing this game. It’s why the hand on Bāekhyun’s thigh remains where it is, unmoving and useless, and the hand on Baëkhyun’s slides higher. It’s all a game of rewards. _Baëkhyun_ deserves them, more often than not. Bāekhyun…

The driver’s eyes flit back to them through the rearview mirror. The action has another shaky breath rasping from Baëkhyun’s throat. He _does_ love to be watched. Baekhyun’s not as great a fan, his gaze hardening as it meets the driver’s. They dutifully look away as though they can feel the sharp tinge of jealousy in the air.

Baëkhyun turns and buries his head into the crook of Baekhyun’s neck, his breath hot against the skin. “More,” he asks, voice not quite to the point of neediness, but well on its way.

“What’s got you so wired?” Baekhyun murmurs, even as he acquiesces, palming over Baëkhyun’s growing bulge. It’s a lazy touch. Baekhyun doesn’t intend to have sex in the back of the car. Still, Baëkhyun’s whining under his breath, voice quiet, but close to breaking the peace.

“He likes the performance,” Bāekhyun mutters, drawing Baekhyun’s gaze over to him, jerking his head towards the driver once Baekhyun’s looking. “Likes having people hard for him,” Bāekhyun continues, letting his hands dance over his own bulge—light and teasing, just enough to draw Baekhyun’s attention. “Jealous for him,” he murmurs, his eyes half-lidded.

A stroke of heat worms its way into Baekhyun’s gut. “Yeah?”

Bāekhyun nods. “And you love it.”

He does. Loves that they are _his_ , just as he is theirs.

They can’t get home quick enough. The moment the security gate opens and the car’s passing through its threshold, Baëkhyun loses any sense of privacy, a moan rolling from his throat, and Baekhyun almost loses his patience, ready to bring Baëkhyun over the edge—driver be damned.

But then they’re parking. Bāekhyun swings the door open and practically drags the two of them out of the car by their collars. The driver gets out too, and walks to his personal car, leaving Baekhyun’s on the curb. Baekhyun can hardly pay him any mind, though, body feeling too alive, heart thundering in his chest, blood pumping through his veins.

They can’t even make it inside before he’s got Baëkhyun pressed up against the wall, a hand twisted in the hair at the back of Baëkhyun’s head, swallowing the moan he lets out as he ruts up against Baekhyun’s thigh. “Thought you weren’t gonna bite,” Baëkhyun gasps, fingers gripping the fabric of Baekhyun’s suit, wrinkling it beneath them. “Thought I’d have to beg Bāekhyunnie for a little attention.” He continues, breathy pants washing over Baekhyun’s lips.

He hums, kissing Baëkhyun again, pushing his tongue into the clone’s mouth and reveling in the moan the action causes. He pulls back a second later, “Even though _I_ was the one teasing you all ride?” He asks, ducking to bite Baëkhyun’s earlobe. He whines sharply.

“Hate teasing,” Baëkhyun mutters. “Never know if you’ll leave my high and dry or if you’ll take care of me.”

Baekhyun scoffs. _As if_ he’d leave Baëkhyun hot and bothered.

Bāekhyun’s hand smooths over Baekhyun’s back, grips his ass and squeezes. The unexpected touch has Baekhyun moaning, eyes fluttering shut, and pushing back into Bāekhyun’s hand, a wordless urge to do it _again_. He does, stepping closer so that he’s just behind Baekhyun, both hands now kneading across his pants.

“Inside,” Baekhyun mutters, after only a minute or so of the attention. “Now.”

Baëkhyun turns, punching in the code, and swings the door open, kicking off his shoes and practically skipping down the hall and up the stairs, towards the bedroom. Bāekhyun lingers, though, shoving Baekhyun up against the wall just inside the door, his chest pressed to Baekhyun’s back.

He noses up the back of Baekhyun’s neck, laving his tongue over the skin. It’s the only warning Baekhyun gets before he’s biting him, sucking a mark there. “You like this?” Baekhyun murmurs, griding back against Bāekhyun’s hips, reveling in the hitch in his breath, the low whine that escapes him. “Like having me under you?” He reaches back, hooks an arm around the back of Bāekhyun’s neck, holding him all the closer. It’s an awkward position, but it’s a controlling one.

It reminds Bāekhyun of his place.

“Answer me,” Baekhyun coaxes.

Bāekhyun’s hands tighten around his hips. “I _love_ it,” he gasps.

“I know you do,” Baekhyun murmurs, grinning. He releases Bāekhyun then and turns around, laying a commanding hand on the clone’s chest. “Let’s not keep Baëkhyun waiting, though. He’s such a good boy, don’t you think?”

Bāekhyun hums, dropping his hands reluctantly and turning to make his way upstairs. Baekhyun dallies only a few minutes longer, setting his phone and wallet on the kitchen counter next to his keys. And then he breathes, reorders his thoughts, wills his arousal down for a few seconds.

Then, he lets a quiet, judgmental wave of thoughts wash over him. _What_ is he doing?

That first time comes to mind, when he’d first let the clones _play_. When he’d first watched and participated. When he’d allowed himself to _feel_. Back then, it was all right, and even the few times after that. Sex is sex.

Jealousy is dangerous, though. Jealousy, like that he’d felt in the car, means he _cares_ —and he’s not meant to care for them, not like that.

A moan drifts down the stairs, pulling him back up to the surface before he can begin to drown. He shouldn’t join them, but he does. When he makes his way upstairs and into the bedroom, it’s to the sight of Baëkhyun with his legs thrown over Bāekhyun’s shoulders. It’s to the sound of dual-moans as Bāekhyun thrusts into Baëkhyun, shunting him up the bed.

“Without me? I hardly took that long,” Baekhyun murmurs, walking to the side of the bed, trailing his hand up Bāekhyun’s naked thighs and then onto his suit-jacket. “Should have taken this off,” he says, sliding his hand beneath it so as to run his hand along Bāekhyun’s back.

He holds his hand there, feeling as the muscles beneath it ripple with each slow thrust Bāekhyun delivers. It’s rhythmic, smooth. If he weren’t such a brat, Baekhyun would invite Bāekhyun to take control for once. But as it is…

He tugs Bāekhyun back, just forceful enough to grab his attention. But it’s the subtle warning on his tongue—“Should have wait your turn”—that gets Bāekhyun to sit back and move _aside_ , his gaze flickering down. It’s reflexive, how he obeys, but by the time his brain catches up with his body, Baekhyun’s already taken his place between Baëkhyun’s legs, kissing him while he reaches down and unzips his pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock.

He sinks into Baëkhyun, drawing back and getting a grip just behind his knees, folding Baëkhyun open.

“Hyun-ah, why don’t you fuck his mouth?” Baekhyun suggests, glancing his way. His dark eyes flash frustratedly, but he kneels over Baëkhyun’s body anyways. A moment later, he’s moaning, cock sinking down Baëkhyun’s throat. Baekhyun laughs, breathlessly, and places a kiss to Baëkhyun’s ankle, punctuating the moment with another powerful thrust. Baëkhyun’s dick drools, precome pooling on his belly.

Baekhyun wraps a hand around it, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Baëkhyun’s foot plants on his shoulder, seems torn between pushing Baekhyun away as his pleasure starts to crest, or to ride into it.

“Come for us,” Baekhyun coaxes.

Bāekhyun echoes him, cupping Baëkhyun’s jaw fondly. Baekhyun’s hand twists on the upstroke, and with it, Baëkhyun’s coming. A few seconds later, when his breathing starts to even out, he’s pushing Baekhyun away, body twitching with oversensitivity.

Baekhyun goes willingly, pulling out and flopping onto his back. “Bāekhyun,” he calls quietly. “Come here,” and crooks his finger at him. Bāekhyun regards him coldly, looking back down at Baëkhyun, breath stuttering when he tongues over the head of his cock. Baekhyun arches a brow. “Don’t you want me?” He reminds, watching the cogs turn. Bāekhyun finally seems to realize what he means. He pulls away from Baëkhyun and slides a hand down Baekhyun’s still-clothed thigh.

“Do I get to have you like I _want_ to?” Bāekhyun asks.

Baekhyun only hums, letting Bāekhyun work his pants down his legs, allowing him to settle in-between them after casting the clothes from the bed. His hands are near reverent as they work up Baekhyun’s shirt, undo it button-by-button and slide it off of him. Baëkhyun slips it and his suit jacket from beneath Baekhyun and shoves them onto the floor.

Bāekhyun’s less reverent once he’s exposed skin. Seems hungry, all-consuming as he kneads over Baekhyun’s waist and kisses up his stomach, his sternum, his neck. Baekhyun’s breath hitches when Bāekhyun drops his mouth to one of his nipples, sucking and then biting at the flesh.

Baëkhyun—not one to be left out—nudges closer, draping a thigh over one of Baekhyun’s, fingers teasing along his thigh, his cock. “Want to be taken care of?” He whispers, lips brushing Baekhyun’s ear. “Want Bāekhyunnie to take control?”

Baekhyun scoffs, “I’ll let him play pretend,” and cards his fingers through both clones’ hair, wordlessly bringing them closer, urging them to please _him_. There’s something exciting about this, about letting them have him. He doesn’t trust most people, hasn’t trusted _anyone_ in a long while. But he can always trust _them_. Can always trust _himself_.

He uses his grip in Bāekhyun’s hair to push him downwards, to have his lips and tongue mouthing just briefly over his cock, before they dip lower. Baekhyun hums out a low moan, back arching when Bāekhyun’s tongue licks over his hole—flat, broad, teasing. But then one of his thumbs is dipping in and Baekhyun moans again, lashes fluttering shut, head thrown back.

Baëkhyun mouths along his throat, sucking dark marks into his skin, licking up sweat and pressing kisses in his wake. “You’re so good to us,” he murmurs, and the praise shoots to Baekhyun’s dick—has him gasping. “So good _for_ us.” And Baekhyun almost wants to say that’s not how this works, but… he can’t summon the words to mind, not when Bāekhyun’s sliding a lubed finger past his rim, crooking it just so.

The second finger comes with a stretch. Baekhyun’s not done this in a while; his body’s unused to it. But, the novelty of it has the heat in his gut thickening. He curses, throwing his arm over his face, burying it in the crook of his elbow. Baëkhyun coos, nosing over his chest, laving over a nipple.

It’s too much all at once. “Make me come,” Baekhyun gasps, “Be good for me, Hyun-ah.”

Both clones moan, but it’s Baëkhyun’s fingers that dance down to his cock, taking it into his grip and stroking him in time with the thrust of Bāekhyun’s fingers.

He snaps like a livewire, cock shooting ropes of come, body arching to its limit, lips parted and brows knit. His breath sighs out on the come down, his fingers loosening their grip in Baëkhyun’s hair and resuming a gentle sort of petting. “Good boys,” he praises, gaze flitting to Bāekhyun, who remains propped up between his legs, fingers thrusting shallowly.

His arrogance seems to resurge with Baekhyun’s gaze on him, and he smirks, prodding Baekhyun’s prostate almost savagely—grinning at the way it has Baekhyun gasping.

Baekhyun tuts his tongue and moves, pushing Bāekhyun over so that he lies on his back, Baekhyun settling over his hips. “Maybe I take back what I said,” he mutters, sinking down on Bāekhyun’s cock with a sigh. He rolls his hips until he’s comfortable and Bāekhyun’s wearing an expression divided between awe and desire.

He seems to hear Baekhyun’s words belatedly, but once he does, that false bravado melts again. “No. I’m a good boy,” he says, lips pursed in a pout. “I’ll be good,” he says again.

“You will?” Baekhyun teases, arching a brow as he lifts up and rolls back down. They both moan—maybe even Baëkhyun, as well. He plants a hand on Bāekhyun’s chest—uses it to ground himself as he rides him. Even like this, it’s Baekhyun who’s gloating. It’s Baekhyun who has all the power. “Then fuck me, _puppy_.”

Bāekhyun moans, his hips stuttering up—cock filling Baekhyun up perfectly, just as its meant to. They’re made for each other. Perfect for each other.

Baëkhyun’s hard again, rutting distractedly into Bāekhyun’s leg. He’s a picture like this, sweat sticking his silver hair to his forehead, neck blooming with bitemarks, come drying on his stomach. He looks wrecked, in the best of ways. “Bāekhyunnie’s so good with his mouth,” Baekhyun starts, pausing for a moment to reach out and coax Baëkhyun up. “Should let him eat you out.”

They moan, as Baekhyun had expected. Baëkhyun settles over Bāekhyun’s face, gasping at the first lick of his tongue. Baekhyun leans forward, cants his jaw up, and kisses Baëkhyun—swallowing up the hitch in his breath.

It’s a quick tumble towards the end at that point—Baekhyun coming for a second time, which, like a chain reaction, has Bāekhyun coming as well, his hips stuttering up for a few abortive thrusts before he relaxes against the sheets. And though lazy, Baekhyun takes hold of Baëkhyun’s dick and stroke _him_ to completion as well, holding him as he shakes through a second, over-sensitive climax.

Baekhyun’s also the one to climb out of the bed, first, walking to the bathroom to wet a washcloth and clean up both clones. He showers after both have fallen into that lazy sort of half-sleep, and by the time he returns, they’re unconscious—wrapped up together.

He climbs into bed, but remains awake for a long while—trying and failing to put his beating heart to rest.

***

With Yixing’s warning in mind, Baekhyun pays his surroundings just a little more attention than is typical. Which is already a lot, since he lives in a cold state of constant paranoia. Today, he’s monitoring a meeting just across the street. Bāekhyun’s playing stand-in—mimicking Baekhyun’s typical dress, mannerisms, and command.

Park Chanyeol knows Baekhyun well, but he’s not yet caught wind of the clones, and that easy trust has made him… foolish, when he would typically be quite sharp. To be fair, he’s probably realized _something’s_ up, just hasn’t placed what _it_ is. But, Bāekhyun plays his part well (as can be expected), and the meeting goes on as planned—Baekhyun listening in through an ear-piece and mic—offering directions every so often.

It’s as he’s relaying some of these directions that he notices a table just a few paces away from the pair. “Ask Chanyeol if he came alone,” Baekhyun relays through the ear-piece, cutting Bāekhyun off mid-sentence. Bāekhyun flinches at the sharpness of his voice, stuttering his words. Baekhyun can’t bring himself to care.

Chanyeol shakes his head when Bāekhyun asks—he’s not alone—but waves his hand to a _different_ table than the one that’s drawn Baekhyun’s eye. “Table to your left, his right, just a few meters behind yours,” Baekhyun directs. “See any weapons?” He can’t from his vantage point—they’re just a hair too far away.

Bāekhyun glances, Chanyeol watching him like a hawk—no doubt spotting the ear-piece now. If he’s ruffled by the revelation, though, he doesn’t show it.

 _“No, I don’t see weapons,”_ Bāekhyun relays over the comm. _“There’s a camera, though.”_

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Continue, then,” he directs, waiting until Bāekhyun’s reached a safe point in conversation—just closing things out—to tell him to acknowledge the cameras. He does as asked, grinning playfully, and then rises, reaching out to shake hands and bow to Chanyeol.

The weapons dealer leans close enough to speak into his mic-ed lapel directly. _“Jongdae? Or is it Zhang?”_ He wonders over the line.

Baekhyun snorts and speaking loud enough that Chanyeol should catch the echo from his proximity says, “Neither, Park.”

Chanyeol draws back, eyebrows furrowed, and looks up at the surrounding buildings. His gaze never does find Baekhyun’s vantage point, though, glossing right over it, unfocused and ignorant.

Bāekhyun reconvenes with them some minutes later, meeting them on the street. They return home, but Baekhyun remains at work, taking calls from his associates, and setting up a station at his computer monitors—sifting through new information (courtesy Yixing) and running over general business transactions. He gets a call some hours later, when the sun is setting, about an issue at the port. An issue with Baekhyun’s personal shipments and operations—ones that Baekbeom (the port authority for their mob) is not aware of, nor _invited_ to be made aware of.

In other words, it’s an issue that requires Baekhyun’s attention and immediately so. “Bāekhyun come with me,” he calls. Both clones stop their patrolling (always on-duty while Baekhyun works) and look his way. “Baëkhyun, we’ll be back soon.”

“Is there a reason you’re not taking me?” Baëkhyun asks, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.

“It’s port business, and every time I take you there, you complain.” Be it the smell of rotting fish or the acrid scent of cigarettes, Baëkhyun’s never been fond of the place. Will never _be_ fond of the place, since Baekhyun’s grown tired of the whining—especially when it’s so much easier to leave him at home. “You’ll guard the house for me, though?” He asks. “Keep an eye out for any cameras peeking over the walls?”

Bāekhyun snorts, “Could give them a show,” he suggests, smirking.

Baekhyun’s lip twitches, but he says nothing. He’s sure the minute shift in expression is enough for Baëkhyun to know he’s not fond of the idea.

“Yeah,” Baëkhyun says, clearing his throat. “I’ll guard the house,” he clarifies.

So, they leave—Bāekhyun and he—taking one of the cars in the garage and driving out past the security gate and turning in the direction of Mul Port. It’s a novel sort of dock, one that cropped up with the emergence of New Seoul, and for as long as it’s been established, it has been run by Baekhyun’s family. As they near it, its glowing ship and warehouse lights coming into view, Baekhyun’s struck again by just how much he loves the place.

There’s a degree of carelessness here, all mixed up with an almost cutting sort of organization. The men who work at this place don’t _care_ who you are, they don’t care what you’re doing, but god help you if you fuck something up in such a way that’ll cause _them_ to lose their hands.

Baekhyun pulls up in front of their first checkpoint—only has to wait a few seconds before the gate’s opened for him—his license plate run, his identity confirmed upon a quick glance through the window. In the passenger seat, Bāekhyun waits patiently—no longer impressed by the port, the novelty having worn off by now—as Baekhyun drives them up to _his_ warehouse.

Inside, they pass rows upon rows of androids—machinery gutting the original build and replacing the innards with something of Baekhyun’s commission. Something that records the androids’ experiences, that uploads it to his servers for his algorithms to run through. _This_ is Baekhyun’s real business—that which is said behind closed doors, when no one thinks he is listening. _This_ is how Baekhyun stays ahead of his enemies.

It’s also what drives his paranoia. He’s _too_ aware of what his closest friends think about him. Knows that Yixing would gut him at first chance if he knew the full scale of Baekhyun’s information empire and could harness it. But he _doesn’t_ , and so he remains Baekhyun’s friend. Knows Jongdeok’s wanted him dead for years now—that he’d put out hits on Baekhyun multiple times before it got to be a bigger loss to kill him than it was a gain. Knows _Jongdae_ has had passing thoughts about slitting his throat—though always amorphous and never quite realized.

Bāekhyun trails a hand along one of the androids before following Baekhyun upstairs, where one of his associates awaits with one of Baekhyun’s ship captains and manufacturers.

The ensuing meeting isn’t really worth his time. Over the phone, it had sounded like it required his presence, but in person it’s a waste. Perhaps the only thing Baekhyun enjoys about it is how Bāekhyun captures the warehouse manager’s _and_ the captain’s attention. Has them _captivated_.

Bāekhyun’s alluring. A different sort than Baëkhyun—who, despite his sharp appearance, gives off an air of petulance, of feisty, but ultimately meaningless conflict. Bāekhyun, though, he has a more natural appearance and a simmering, patient sort of attitude. One that is challenging and can’t be all-together trusted, but smooth, not as abrasive. Baekhyun can see through it. Knows that Bāekhyun wants attention just as much as Baëkhyun, knows he wants _affection_ too.

He closes out the meeting, dismissing both the manager and the captain. Once they’ve left, he’s alone with Bāekhyun and a few of those faceless androids—those not meant to have an identity nor to have an emotion; task-oriented droids. He stares at one of them for a long while, sat at his desk, mulling over the meeting. Useless as it was, it’s told him he needs to replace the warehouse manager, and that the captain is too much trouble to consider for future transactions.

“Do you wish we were like that?” Bāekhyun interrupts his thoughts, voice empty. He’s staring at the android too, his face impassive, gaze unreadable.

Baekhyun arches a brow, “Mindless machines?” He shakes his head. “No. I don’t wish you were like that.”

“We’d be perfect like that,” Bāekhyun says, tone the same as before.

The statement drags Baekhyun’s gaze off of the machine and onto him. “What makes you think you’re _not_ perfect?” He drawls.

Bāekhyun glances at him and crosses his arms. “You forget that we can feel what you feel. Your emotions are ours. Your expressions are ours.” He almost sounds accusatory. “Do you think we cannot see your guilt?”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows rise further, lips quirking into a smile. “I’m guilty for many things. The two of you are not cause for any of it,” he says, letting the lie slide off his tongue as sweet as honey. “If anything, you are too perfect. Sometimes I wonder if you are the _better_ me.” He _doesn’t_ , not really—Baekhyun’s not that lodged within an identity crisis—but he’s curious to see how Bāekhyun eats up his lies, to see if he takes them as truths or if he really _can_ suss it out.

“I _am_ the better you,” Bāekhyun says, voice light. Still, he walks over to the android that had held their gaze, smoothing a hand across its flat, plastic chest. As Baekhyun watches, Bāekhyun’s hand creeps across its throat. It’s robotic, doesn’t breathe, but the image is… exciting. “Though Baëkhyun’s probably better than the both of us.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, though he agrees to some extent. They all have different strengths, different weaknesses. Facets of Baekhyun that manifested differently in the both of them. Baëkhyun has his paranoia and his abandonment issues—it makes him petulant, quick to lash out, but also quick to smooth over.

Bāekhyun has his confidence, has his arrogance, but also his insecurities—that he’ll never live up to the expectations he’s set for himself, that he has to lash out at _himself_ , because he is the only one that can fail himself.

And Baekhyun… well he’s all of it—some repressed, most of it constantly modifying and tormenting his day-to-day.

“We’d be indestructible were we machines,” Bāekhyun murmurs, drawing Baekhyun’s attention back onto him. He’s graduated to mouthing along the android’s unresponsive body, wandering hands like a mirror of what he _could_ be doing to Baekhyun.

“You’d be cheap and easy to replace,” Baekhyun corrects, leaning back in his seat and letting his legs fall open.

Bāekhyun eyes him, but draws away from the artificial model. “Baëkhyunnie would be jealous,” he murmurs. Baekhyun hums, inclining his head ever so slightly as if to say, “ _Yes_ ,” he knows that already. He gives Bāekhyun time to mull over his options though.

And, _if_ he ends up in Baekhyun’s lap at the end of it all, back arched and throat bared… well, Baëkhyun doesn’t have to know.

***

It’s immediately evident that something has happened in the short time Baekhyun’s been out taking care of “business” with Bāekhyun. The security gate’s popped ever so slightly—the lock jilted out of place as though broken by some tool—and the push-lever practically useless, the security light flickering a dull red. Bāekhyun, equally attuned to such things, has already retrieved his pistol from its shoulder-holster, stepping ahead of Baekhyun as he’s been trained to do.

He toes open the gate as Baekhyun draws his own gun, following him at a more lax, slinking pace. A broken security gate isn’t _too_ much cause for alarm. Their neighborhood is an upscale one, and while it’s not normally the easiest target for thieves (and therefore, not normally worth the trouble), such instances aren’t _so_ out of the ordinary. That being said, Baekhyun’s realm is among clouds of meth, piles of money, and throngs of monsters.

The chances of this being _nothing_ really isn’t in their favor.

Bāekhyun leads the way up the drive, though they both stick to the side closest to the building, the part of pavement thrown into shadow, but well within view of the cameras—cameras Baekhyun will have to check as soon as the house has been cleared. The silence, though, as both of them walk up to the side-entrance and Bāekhyun punches in the code, that silence is nearly suffocating. It's bated breath and restrained adrenaline—their hearts thudding against their ribs, this breath hanging in their throats.

The code fails to work, the power to the house seemingly cut.

Baekhyun fishes out the spare key and passes it Bāekhyun’s way, pointing the muzzle of his gun over the clone’s shoulder, just in case there’s something waiting just on the other side.

The door swings open, the digital lock bypassed, and reveals a hallway as deep a black as oil. Bāekhyun walks inside, shoulders tense, but without any hesitation. Baekhyun follows him a beat later, belatedly scanning through the guest rooms Bāekhyun checks. He’s not too concerned about them. And, as bare as they are (Baekhyun’s not a fan of needless comforts, needless hoarding), it’s easy to clear each and every one of them.

When the hallway opens up to the body of the house, from which the lounge, the kitchen, and the dining room are all visible, it becomes immediately apparent that there’s been an altercation. More so when Bāekhyun slips on a smearing of blood on the floor.

Baëkhyun had been left to guard the home.

Bile rises, unbidden, in Baekhyun’s throat at the thought that something’s been done to him. _Hate_ boils more quietly, upon the realization that if someone has hurt Baëkhyun, they had actually meant to hurt _him_.

They clear the downstairs and turn their attention to the upstairs portion of the manor. It’s at the landing between floors that they find their first body. A masked assailant with their blood soaking through the clean white carpet, their body splayed out in a crumpled heap, like they’d simply _dropped_ dead.

They bear a gunshot wound to the head. Two, actually, as though Baëkhyun had turned around, popped him twice, and then continued up the stairs.

Fortuitously, the man’s bleeding body identifies the other members of his crew, as Baekhyun counts at least four other pairs of shoes running up the stairs, all heavy, working boots. For so many people to be so quiet… Baekhyun relaxes infinitesimally, deciding in this moment that it’s more likely they’ve arrived to the _aftermath_ of a situation than walking into a trap.

The bloody footsteps continue down the hall, checking the various upstairs rooms. Another body sits at the end of the hall, just outside of the master bedroom, slumped against the wall.

A body whose head turns to look at them. Both Bāekhyun and Baekhyun pause, performing a half-second threat assessment. Bāekhyun shoots before Baekhyun can tell him not to, and the man’s head smacks back against the corner, blood spraying along the clean, white wall.

Baekhyun’s lip curls, but he holds his tongue from admonishing Bāekhyun. Even though the gunshot rings through the house and gives away any semblance of secrecy.

Bāekhyun toes open the master bedroom door and a _wail_ rises up his throat. Baekhyun tucks away his gun and mentally prepares himself for what he’ll see. He steps in behind the clone, watching as he rushes over to a lone chair in the middle of the room, just a couple of feet from the bed, and to the slumped figure inside it.

While Bāekhyun begins a frenetic check on the corpse in the center of the room, Baekhyun instead takes the time to go through the bedroom and bath and make sure it is empty apart from the body. It is. “Bāekhyun,” he says lowly, “Call Jongdae for me and go wait downstairs.” His tone brooks no argument, slicing through the _denying_ whimpers rasping from Bāekhyun’s throat. “Now, please.” He watches as Bāekhyun pulls away, belatedly so, and fixes Baekhyun with a look of challenge, of hate, his eyes so full of turmoil.

It’s odd to think that there was a time in which Baekhyun didn’t see their emotions, didn’t think them capable of it.

“I said get out,” Baekhyun repeats, nodding his head toward the door. “Use the landline. Don’t use any specifics, though, as it may be tapped.” He reminds.

Bāekhyun leaves, taking with him that oppressive, hateful sort of emotion. It leaves Baekhyun with the startling emptiness of being in the same room as a corpse.

His corpse, technically.

He walks to where Baëkhyun slumps over, ignoring the squelch of his shoes in the blood beneath the chair, and curls his fingers in Baëkhyun’s hair, using it as an anchor to pull his head back.

A deep cut runs through his face—right over his cheekbones and across the bridge of his nose—but that’s not the fatal blow—despite all of the blood that appears to have poured from the wound… that still seeps from it. Nor is the fatal blow the gunshot wound to his thigh.

Rather, it’s strangulation, and the killing weapon is, in fact, a belt. One that has been cinched around his throat so deeply as to have genuinely cut through his skin, causing blood to bead up beneath the metal buckle, and bruises to shadow the line of leather. Baekhyun undoes the belt, having to pull the leather tighter in order to then loosen it, and casts it to the side, still gazing down at Baëkhyun’s corpse, emotions stuttering in the face of something so unreal.

This _would_ have been him, had he not gone out for the impromptu meeting, if he’d not wasted _more_ time fucking Bāekhyun over his desk.

 _He_ would have had lips pale and colorless. _He_ would have had these wide, glassy eyes. _He_ would have been the one tied to a chair and made to suffocate.

He has a macabre fascination with it, despite his mixed feelings of horror and distress, and stares down at Baëkhyun a few moments longer before he releases his grip on the back of the clone’s head and lets it slump forward again.

He walks to his nightstand and fishes out one of the blades he keeps there, bringing it back to the chair and using it to cut the binds around Baëkhyun’s wrists free, careful to keep ahold of the corpse so that it doesn’t topple onto the ground. And then, he picks Baëkhyun up, shouldering him.

He’s always been slight. Both clones have been. Their bodies seem to metabolize more quickly than Baekhyun’s. Or, perhaps their training just shaves off more fat. Either way, he’s not too much trouble to carry, despite the dead weight.

Baekhyun picks his way downstairs carefully, and walks all the way past the lounge and back into the garage. Of the two cars it fits, one remains (the other left parked down by the gate upon their noticing the security gate broken), and it’s in this car that Baekhyun deposits Baëkhyun’s corpse in the back seat, shoving it inside unceremoniously.

Bāekhyun’s followed him out, eyes narrowed judgmentally.

“Go clean out the vault and grab our away bags,” Baekhyun commands simply, brushing off his accusatory attitude. “I’ll get the car started.”

He rounds it and opens the driver’s side door, pulling the handle, then slipping inside. He adjusts the seat, starting the car with a press of a button, and waits the full five minutes it takes for Bāekhyun to return—throwing the bags alongside the corpse in the backseat—and slip into the passenger seat.

They leave the manor house behind in silence, the car filled with the sharp copper scent of blood.

***

“Admittedly, I expected they might last a little longer,” Jongdae murmurs once Baëkhyun’s body’s been deposited in whatever chamber Jongdae used to _create_ him. Now, they’re sat at a plain wooden table inside the lab, glasses of whiskey in hand, a chess board in front of them.

Baekhyun tuts his tongue. “I don’t know what would give you that impression,” he murmurs.

“Let’s just say I was beginning to think their purpose was less utilitarian than you originally intended. Figured you’d be more careful with them.” Jongdae clarifies, his tone just bordering on teasing, gazing at Bāekhyun from over the lip of his glass.

He’s talking about the haphazard collection of hickies along Bāekhyun’s throat—fading, since it’s been a short while since Baekhyun last marked him up—but visible nonetheless.

“Is that so?” Baekhyun drones, capturing Jongdae’s queen. His friend retaliates, his knight taking Baekhyun’s queen and evening out the board again. But, even if Jongdae’s wisened up to Baekhyun’s tricks by now, so too has Baekhyun to _his_. He sees a checkmate in four.

He begins traveling a pawn across the board. On the third move, it’ll be queen-ed, and on the fourth, with a move of his rook, Jongdae’s king will be caught.

Baekhyun continues to talk, keeping Jongdae distracted, “You’re entitled to your… theories, I suppose. But, I wouldn’t say their purpose has changed at all. They’re still bodyguards.”

“Bodyguards with benefits?” Jongdae murmurs, moving his knight in position to threaten Baekhyun’s pawn. It’s a momentary stall on Baekhyun’s plans, but he captures the knight with his only remaining bishop. Jongdae moves one of his pawns across the board, chasing the same end as Baekhyun. He’ll be too late though.

“All the benefits of getting strapped to a chair and strangled,” Baekhyun agrees sarcastically, raising a brow. Behind him, Bāekhyun shifts. “Yixing was of the same opinion,” Baekhyun murmurs, keeping the conversation flowing despite his overbearing focus on the chess board.

“That’s to be expected. I imagine he’s not a fan?” Jongdae questions. “ He’s scandalous in his own way, but definitely not as sick as you.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m sick,” Baekhyun protests boredly, not wholly convinced, himself. “But, you’re right. I’m sure they’ll win him over eventually.”

Jongdae raises a brow and uses his pawn to put Baekhyun’s king in check. “Perhaps—perhaps not. Yixing doesn’t change opinion easily, especially over moral matters.”

“Yixing is a business man, and I’m his most lucrative partner. He’ll be plenty won over when they keep me alive and business going,” Baekhyun reminds him, moving his king a square over and rolling his eyes. “Besides, he’s hardly moral when he’s running all my sex clubs.”

“They’re _droid_ sex clubs. Not _people_ sex clubs,” Jongdae challenges. He then makes another move, mulling over Baekhyun’s words.

Baekhyun takes his next move to queen his pawn, and puts Jongdae in checkmate with the move. “I’ve won,” he says.

“Finally,” Jongdae yawns, flicking over his king. “We’ve been playing since you got here. You’re too conservative with your tactics. Live a little, show some impulse,” Jongdae teases, collecting the pieces and returning them to their case, sliding the board off to the side—no longer needed.

Now, he leans back and gazes openly at Bāekhyun. “Does it bother you that he’ll throw you away without a second thought,” Jongdae asks, tone poisonous yet clinical. He’s _fascinated_ by the clones. When he’d made them, he’d thought them to be like extra limbs. Responding to an impetus, but never acting with wit itself.

Baekhyun says nothing to defend Bāekhyun; quietly, he’s just _as_ curious as Jongdae.

“Who are you to say he won’t do the same to you?” Bāekhyun responds with just as much poison.

Baekhyun’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, lips pulling into a smirk.

Jongdae too, seems surprised, even _more_ curious now. But, he’s clever enough to know when to put something to rest. “I see I’ve struck a nerve,” he hums, trailing off and looking back to Baekhyun, one brow arched quizzically.

Baekhyun shrugs and changes topics, “How’s Kyungsoo?” he asks.

Jongdae rolls a crick out of his neck. “Filming—as usual.”

“Is that why you’re pining for me?” Baekhyun teases. “You _have_ seemed keyed up lately. If you need a pity-fu—“

“I am _not_ pining,” Jongdae mutters, rolling his eyes. “Nor do I need a pity-fuck, thank you very much. You _wish_ you had me in your bed.” He swirls his drink around his glass, eyelids fluttering shut as he relaxes against the back of his chair. “But, we have a date coming up for his next break. I’m thinking of bringing him to Macau to gamble.”

“Shouldn’t feed his addiction,” Baekhyun warns, thumbing along the lip of his glass. “Take him to Japan, where it’s quiet. He prefers it.”

Jongdae hums, considering it. After all, Baekhyun knows what he’s talking about, having grown up alongside the actor, going to all the same private schools, all the same parties. It’s through Baekhyun that Jongdae’d met Kyungsoo. It’s because of Baekhyun that the two of them pursued one another (both of them needing a distraction from their unrequited love). “Perhaps I _will_ take him to Japan. Have any suggestions where?”

Baekhyun relays the hotel he’d stayed at the last time he’d vacationed in the country, mind flitting to the memory. It had been a rare break. A _real_ break where he ignored any work back home. A break in which he’d entertained himself with the two clones.

At the thought of them both, one of the lab computers comes to life, relaying a status update.

“Should be patched up,” Jongdae murmurs, standing up and walking over to the rusted capsule. For such a high-tech lab, Jongdae treats the place like shit, letting it run down as though a little maintenance is as expensive as replacing the tech—when it’s not.

Baekhyun watches as the case is opened, though, letting thick, white, vapor flow free of the cracks. As soon as it clears, he surveys Baëkhyun’s body under a critical, observant eye. “He scarred?” Baekhyun asks, nodding to the cut that remains slashed across his face. The cuts on his neck, not having been as deep, appear to have healed over completely.

“It was deep,” Jongdae says, confirming Baekhyun’s suspicion. “The machine revives, it doesn’t really need to _heal_? If that makes sense? It’ll just patch what’s necessary, like his crushed windpipe and the arterial bleed he had in his thigh.” Jongdae reaches over to the clamps that hold Baëkhyun upright and undoes them, waiting for Baëkhyun to regain conciousness before he helps him out of the machine. “I’m curious to see what he remembers?” Jongdae continues, peering at Baëkhyun.

Baekhyun hears a hitch of breath behind him—Bāekhyun. It pulls on his heart strings just enough to set some boundaries. “You can find the time to ask him later, when things aren’t as fresh, don’t you think?”

Jongdae makes a noise that sounds like complaint, but helps Baëkhyun out of the capsule with his mouth kept blessedly shut. And once Baëkhyun’s standing on his own, Baekhyun stands, setting down his glass. “We’ll head out for the night—“

“Where are you staying?” Jongdae asks, arching a brow.

“Someone just tried to kill me, Jongdae. As much as I trust you, I’d prefer that information stays with me,” he singsongs, watching Bāekhyun step past him and grab ahold of Baëkhyun. “Go wait in the car,” Baekhyun tells them, watching as they walk past him—Bāekhyun’s voice quiet, whispering encouragement to the other clone, who has yet to speak.

Jongdae watches them leave. “Fair enough,” he says eventually, but before Baekhyun can say his farewells, he’s clearing his throat. “When I created those… things for you,” he starts, “I told you not to get attached. Not to abuse their purpose.” He fixes Baekhyun with a stare, unnecessarily sober. “You’re an adult, and can make your own choices and judgments, but I’m telling you now, that if you keep going down this path you’re on, _they’re_ going to hurt you.”

“They’re nothing more than puppets,” Baekhyun mutters, looking away.

“Don’t lie to yourself,” Jongdae says.

Baekhyun has nothing else to say to that, taking it as an excuse to turn and leave. He gets to the car and sees Bāekhyun in the driver’s seat. Baëkhyun sits in the passenger seat, probably to avoid having him sat in the blood-sodden seats in the back of the car. Which is where Baekhyun ends up. “We’re going to the apartment in Gangnam,” he tells Bāekhyun.

The car rolls into motion. Baekhyun leans forward, glancing at where Baëkhyun sits empty-eyed in the passenger seat, and reaches out, squeezing his shoulder gently, comfortingly. “Baëkhyun-ah, look at me,” he coaxes.

It takes a moment for the request to sink in and for Baëkhyun to turn, his grey eyes flicking to Baekhyun’s.

“Do you need rest?” Baekhyun asks, because he can’t ask if he’s okay—not with Jongdae’s warning echoing in mind.

Baëkhyun stares, and then, he nods, slow, and turns back to the window, looking away from both he and Bāekhyun.

“Then you’ll rest,” Baekhyun says quietly, leaning back in his seat—ignoring how blood soaks his pants, how the scent permeates the car. In the meantime, he calls up his cleaners—those employed through his brother, and tells them of the mess back home, offering them a doubled rate if it’s cleaned within the next couple of hours.

And, when he relates the damages, the corpses that’ll have to be disposed of, he pretends not to see the way Baëkhyun flinches.

When the car finally lapses into silence, it stays that way all the way to the apartment in Gangnam. No one speaks on the way up to the suite, nor does anyone speak once they’ve all settled inside.

Baekhyun’s first course of action is to invite Bāekhyun to shower clean with him. Though this, of course, catches Baëkhyun’s attention. He _tenses,_ anxiety _so_ evident on his face. “We’ll be gone for a few minutes, that’s all,” Baekhyun soothes quietly. “Just a few minutes.”

But then, after he and Bāekhyun end up under the water, Baekhyun hears the bathroom door open, and through the foggy glass panel, catches sight of Baëkhyun climbing up onto the bathroom counter and finding a comfortable perch with his back against the wall.

Again, there’s a pang that goes through Baekhyun’s heart. One he pushes down in favor of turning his attention to Bāekhyun, washing the blood from his skin and cleaning his hair. It takes much less effort to get him to settle down and go back to his typical attitude and teasing—evident in the way he pinches Baekhyun’s side a minute later, mumbling something snarky under his breath that gets swallowed by the sound of the water.

Baekhyun cuts the water once all the soap’s been washed off of their skin and swings open the shower door, revealing Baëkhyun sat on the counter, arms curled around his legs, watchful gaze following them as they get dressed. “Wasn’t too long?” Baekhyun murmurs, quirking his lip.

Baëkhyun cocks his head, but doesn’t say anything. Baekhyun tuts his tongue and reaches over, carding his fingers through the clone’s soft, white hair. “What do you remember?” He asks bluntly, tipping Baëkhyun’s chin up.

Bāekhyun looks over too, his gaze flicking to them through the mirror, dark and curious.

“How it felt,” Baëkhyun says, voice rasping. “Only how it felt.” And this is enough to satisfy Baekhyun except that, once he’s started to relay it, Baëkhyun can’t seem to stop. “I was just hoping you’d get home,” he whispers, gaze fixing to Baekhyun’s. Not Bāekhyun. But, the Original. The head of the household. “I was trying to—“

“You did well,” Baekhyun says, cutting him off. He recognizes that tone in his voice. Knows Baëkhyun only wants to _please_ , at the end of the day. His job is to protect Baekhyun and his _home_ , and that is just what he had tried to do.

It’s unfortunate when Baëkhyun cries. Moreso because he turns to _Baekhyun_ for comfort.

When Baekhyun gently pries away his clutching hands, and instead, hands Baëkhyun off to Bāekhyun—it’s not with disdain. It’s not with apathy. Rather, it’s because Baekhyun’s heart _hurts_ to see Baëkhyun like this. And, not for the first time that night, he realizes just how dangerous a thought that is.

***

“Where’s the other one?” Minseok murmurs, looking up from the paperwork laid out on his desk. Ledgers and records, contacts and numbers—all for his perusal. All for Baekhyun’s.

“Home,” Baekhyun states curtly, waiting for Minseok to rise and key him the rest of the way up the elevator. “He’s not… fit to work at the current moment,” he elaborates just a smidgen more. Minseok raises a brow, but doesn’t ask about it. He’ll pry details later—probably from Jongdae—and doesn’t need to waste his time letting Baekhyun talk him in circles.

Minseok swipes his card over the reader in the elevator, waiting until it flashes green to press the button for the top level. He then pauses just long enough for Baekhyun to give him a short word of thanks before turning on his heel and returning to his desk.

The steel doors slide shut, leaving Baekhyun staring at his own warped reflection. Next to him, Bāekhyun stands like a shadow. “Will you be replacing him?” Bāekhyun asks suddenly.

Baekhyun’s brow furrows and he frowns. “Replacing _who_? Baëkhyun?” He glances at Bāekhyun, hoping the incredulity translates. It seemingly does, if the sheepish nod Bāekhyun gives him means anything. “Not now,” Baekhyun says simply, opting not to explain further. Bāekhyun… it’s best he not know the turmoil in Baekhyun’s heart. The predicament he’s in.

If he replaces Baëkhyun, he’ll have to replace the other as well. Start over entirely.

The elevator doors slide open at that point, saving Baekhyun from any requests to elaborate. Bāekhyun folds into place behind Baekhyun—a shadow in these meetings. Someone with a familiar, but always _blank_ face. “Junmyeon… you called?” Baekhyun greets the man sat behind his desk with a phone in hand.

Junmyeon cuts him a glance then returns his attention to his phone, finishing up whatever conversation he’d been having. He _makes_ time for Baekhyun. The Byun’s have too much sway these days for him not to. So, it’s not even a minute later that he’s setting his phone aside, face down, and reclining, folding his hands neatly over his lap.

Baekhyun makes himself similarly comfortable, sinking into the plush chair opposite Junmyeon’s desk.

“I heard you had a break-in?” Junmyeon asks, gaze expectant. “But, you didn’t report it.”

“Who’d you hear it from?” Baekhyun asks, then, cocking his head. It’s not that he didn’t _expect_ this—word goes around, and he’s almost certain the Kims have had his wires tapped—but, he’s surprised Junmyeon would be so brazen.

Junmyeon scoffs, “Does it matter? The fact is, someone had a hit out on you, and failed.”

Baekhyun shrugs. He knows Junmyeon didn’t order the hit. Knows it wasn’t the Kims’ doing. Otherwise, they would have immediately tried to put one of their family members in Baekhyun’s vacated position at the mob—after all, a Baekhyun _had_ been killed that night. Just not… _Baekhyun_. “I’ll know eventually,” Baekhyun murmurs, referring to Junmyeon’s informant. “And, I’ll track down my would-be murderers, too, I suppose.”

To be completely candid, Baekhyun _has_ been tracking down the hitmen. He’s identified three of the original group of five—the corpses had been easiest. He’d had the cleaning crew send images of them and had run them through Yixing’s club database. It was easy to find matches. The third man had been more difficult to find, but had worked with the other two on occasion. Baekhyun had identified _him_ off of a nearby corner-store’s security camera.

“I’m sure you will,” Junmyeon says. “But, let’s talk. I assume you’re holed up elsewhere?”

“Indeed,” Baekhyun confirms. “The manor will go to market after it’s been gutted,” he continues. “It’s been compromised once, and I’m not in the habit of trusting something after once deceived.” He smirks, “Unlike you.”

Junmyeon’s lip curls, and he rolls his eyes. “Minseok does good work.”

“Tell me that after he sells you to the wolves,” Baekhyun warns. “Is this all you called me in for, though? To ask me about a group of shitty mercenaries?”

“Truthfully—“ Junmyeon starts, Baekhyun scoffing in disbelief as if _anything_ Junmyeon says is _honest_. “—I have a file for you that you might appreciate. I also have a job for you.” He takes this time to pull a simple folder from inside his desk and drop it in front of Baekhyun—who pulls it over curiously and flips open the front. Inside, are photos of _him_ , and in later photographs, Baekhyun notices that there are also photos of the clones—though always when Baekhyun’s sent them out _alone_.

“Would you like to explain?” Baekhyun asks, flipping through the photos carefully, identifying each one as best he can. There’s record of his infrequent trips to the cornerstore for alcohol, as well as of his occasional trips to Baekbeom’s offices, and even a photo of him picking up his niece from school.

Junmyeon waves his hand dismissively. “Jongdeok’s had you tailed since Jongdae started talking about you more—”

“Jongdae’s always talking about me. It’s called a crush.”

“—which, I was fairly sure you had already caught onto.” Junmyeon says. And, he’s not _technically_ wrong. Again, Baekhyun’s believed himself to have been under a watchful gaze for a while now. It _does_ ruffle his feathers, though, that he hadn’t noticed the extent of Jongdeok’s surveillance. He only recognizes a few instances as those where he’d identified the photographers trailing him.

“That being said, we weren’t the only ones doing so.” Junmyeon drops another folder in front of Baekhyun. _This_ one’s subject isn’t Baekhyun, though he appears in a vast number of photos. It’s actually on seemingly mundane people and cars.

People _watching_ him, making calls after his passing. Cars tailing him. People monitoring his schedule at home. An image of someone inspecting his security gate. So on, and so forth. “Is this supposed to be shocking?” Baekhyun wonders aloud, flipping the folder shut, but keeping it balanced neatly in his lap. “I have them on multiple security cameras. I’m paranoid, Junmyeon. If you think I don’t have _multiple_ angles of these people’s surveillance, you’re a fool.”

Junmyeon holds up his hands placatingly, lips pulled taut, eyebrows raised. “I figured so, but thought I’d pass you the images anyways. You can run them through whatever system you operate.” The _Eye_. It’s a database moderated by Yixing and he, both. He _will_ run these photos, these faces through it—though he has a feeling most of these people are one-off hires. People desperate for money who took on a shady job without any real malice expressed.

Baekhyun might warn them—a phone call or a photograph sent their way letting them know he’s watching—but chances are, it’s not worth his time. “I’ll run the faces,” he confirms, figuring it’s better to cede and show Junmyeon a sense of camaraderie than try to ruffle him up. “Thank you,” he mutters, jaw clenching.

Junmyeon grins. “That taken care of, I’ve a job. We have an associate of ours acting up, and someone needs to go… convince them back on track—“

Baekhyun arches a brow. “Is that so…”

***

Bāekhyun and he return to the apartment several hours later, when Baekhyun’s knuckles are still bruising and his heart still thudding. There is a rush in… interrogating. A rush in intimidating. Baekhyun’s not fond of it in most circumstances—he really is quite congenial—but in a realm where he works with men far more evil than he… it’s hard to regret taking… more visceral action against them.

Unfortunately, as has become habit when he and Bāekhyun go out… Baëkhyun’s not fared well. It’s obvious in the shattered bottle of wine spilled across the kitchen floor. Obvious in the bloody fingerprints smudged across the counter. Obvious in the retching and vomiting they can both hear emanating from the bathroom down the hall.

His panic attacks have only increased in their intensity and frequency.

Bāekhyun doesn’t have much ability to do anything about it, either, as he’s never personally experienced an attack of the sort, nor has he witnessed any prior to the start of Baëkhyun’s episodes.

Baekhyun, though… he knows what a panic attack is like. Has experienced them before.

So, when Bāekhyun immediately makes to _touch_ Baëkhyun—to offer tactile support—Baekhyun pulls him back, catching him by the back of the collar. “You’ll make it worse,” he says quietly, leaning in the doorway. His heart aches at the sight of Baëkhyun curled over the toilet, _heaving_ into the bowl, his breath gasping, his knuckles turning white. He can’t see the clone’s face, but… he can imagine the terror very clearly.

To Baëkhyun, he offers, “We’re here. You’re okay.” It’s a quiet reassurance. Not the best words, because Baëkhyun is very clearly _not_ okay, but… he’s not being hunted. There’s no one else in the house. “This place is safe,” he continues, keeping his tone even, relaxed, non-judgmental.

The attack doesn’t abate, not that Baekhyun expected it to. “Bāekhyun’s going to get you some water,” he tells him, simultaneously giving Bāekhyun something to do other than hover in the doorway nervously. “I’m going to grab some meds.” He takes a step into the bathroom, avoiding getting too near to Baëkhyun.

They’re one and the same. Baekhyun doesn’t like people in close proximity during his attacks. Baëkhyun is very much the same way—despite how clingy he may be outside of one.

He uncaps the prescription pill bottle and passes one off to Baëkhyun, passing him the glass of water Bāekhyun’s retrieved as well. Baëkhyun accepts both, but the look he sends Baekhyun’s way is a warning one. Panicked, but warning. _Back off_ , it says, or his panic will worsen.

Baekhyun steps back into the doorway, “Do you want to be alone?”

Baëkhyun shakes his head, swallowing the pill and then resting his head on his arm. His breathing’s still staccato, his skin still an ashen sort of pale. His hands are bleeding, little nicks from the glass of the shattered bottle, their tremble smearing thin prints of blood over the porcelain. Baekhyun will clean them off later and wrap band-aids around the thin digits. In the meantime, though, he waits and watches. “Take a deep breath,” he guides, his tone quiet and coaxing—not quite commanding. He doesn’t want to overwhelm.

Baëkhyun does, mimicking Baekhyun’s example, following the same rhythm. He’s got another half-hour before the medication kicks in and soothes the attack. But, this will do for now. Will cut down what might normally last for an hour or more and make it more manageable.

It’s not pretty. Never is.

When the medication _does_ finally kick in, and Baëkhyun’s breathing slows down and evens out, his hands losing their tremor, his eyes refocusing… Baekhyun retrieves hydrogen peroxide from the medicine cabinet, a washcloth, and a box of band-aids, taking a seat next to Baëkhyun. There, he takes each hand one by one, and cleans off Baëkhyun’s fingers, washing away the blood and cleaning the cuts of any bacterias. Bāekhyun _also_ comes into the bathroom now, sitting on the lip of the bathtub and carding his fingers through Baëkhyun’s hair.

“What caused it?” Baekhyun asks, breaking the silence.

“One of the alarms went off. It was probably only resetting, but…” he trails off, rubbing his eyes with his hands. Baekhyun doesn’t press, instead, standing up and reaching over for the faucet on the bath. He turns it, allowing warm water to start filling up the basin.

“Why don’t you take a bath, then,” he says. It always helped him. The warmth, the floaty feeling, and the steam always helps with the inevitable headaches he would get after his episodes. “Would it make you feel better if I checked the cameras anyway?”

Baëkhyun nods, so Baekhyun leaves them to bathe and goes and checks the cameras as he’d promised. Baëkhyun’s not there watching to make sure he does it… but… it feels like a disservice were Baekhyun to lie to him. Honestly, Baëkhyun would probably know it if he did.

In the quiet, though, when Bāekhyun’s distracting the other… Baekhyun has time to think. Has time to mull over it all. Because, in the chaos of the past few weeks… he hasn’t had that time to dwell on things—or he has simply chosen not to do so.

Dwelling on it all means he’s to confront it all. And he’s not quite ready to admit he _cares_ about either of the clones. Not to the extent that would require him to rearrange his worldview, but the more _human_ they act, the less secure he feels about his apathy. Which of course poses another problem, because Baëkhyun may be startlingly human—with human desire, human petulance, human _fear_ —but Bāekhyun is far colder, far more standoffish.

Baëkhyun looks the more artificial, but Bāekhyun acts it.

 _But is it worth replacing them?_ They’ve been working for him for a few months now—ever since Jongdae created them—and thinking back to their origin, to those first few weeks where Baekhyun had to make them accustomed to this lifestyle—to this fighting, this brutality, this criminality—he doesn’t _want_ to relive it. There’s a nuance to their experiences, and he knows that if he were to replace the both of them… whatever comes next likely won’t be the same.

But is it worth it? Taking that risk and accepting that difference? Perhaps, the next will endear themselves more so to him, whilst remaining useful to his purposes.

He dispels the thought to focus on the root of it.

Someone wants him dead, and unfortunately—or fortunately, so—the clones are caught in the crossfire. Not that it hadn’t been their purpose in the first place to take a bullet for him when needed.

He mulls over it while he cleans up the broken glass (the cameras having turned up clear) from the bottle, and wipes down the counters of any remaining smudges of blood. He doesn’t want Baëkhyun to walk back in and get thrown into distress again. Though, if Baekhyun’s being hunted down, it may not be long before his nightmares becomes reality once more.

He glances at his phone. Could call Kyungsoo, see if he’d be willing to watch the clone for a period of time. With how much he travels, Baëkhyun would never be in one place long enough to get caught in the—

_What is he thinking?_

“Hyun-ah? Are you joining us?” It’s Baëkhyun’s voice, from the hall, echoing against the bathroom tiles before it reaches Baekhyun where he stands in the kitchen.

“Just a moment,” he calls back, mind reeling again. He grabs his phone and instead, texts Jongdae.

> **ME - 11:34 PM**
> 
> I fucked up.

Three simple, obscure little words, biting in tone, but… Jongdae pieces it all together nearly immediately—his response coming only a few short minutes later.

> **JD - 11:37 PM**
> 
> Do you want me to make new ones?

_No_. He doesn’t. _That’s_ the problem.

He sets down his phone and walks back to the bathroom. He has half a mind to sink down in the water with the clones, but… no. He doesn’t want that either, right now. Thinks it would be an overload to process. So, instead, he sits down on the closed toilet seat, and reaches over to massage through the clones’ hair, over their shoulders. He’s gentle like this—with his hands—since he’s often not with his words.

“Did I make you angry?” Baëkhyun wonders aloud, question directed at Baekhyun.

He shakes his head, “No. Not angry,” and leaves it to hang in the air.

Bāekhyun shifts, always uncomfortable when Baekhyun leaves things unsaid. He’s the type to need things put bluntly. He hates beating around the bush. And Baekhyun does too, he’s just grown used to it after living a life surrounded by snakes. Sometimes, tact, sometimes _secrecy_ and _lies_ are needed. “Then, what are you?” He says, tone a little too sharp.

Baekhyun arches a brow, frowning. “Thoughtful,” he drawls, if only to get Bāekhyun off of his back.

“About?”

“What to do with the both of you,” he says, helping Baëkhyun to wash the soap out of his hair. “You are _my_ guards, and yet… what guarding are you doing?” He wonders aloud, tipping Baëkhyun’s chin up, ignoring the way Bāekhyun’s shoulders hunch and how he _bristles_ at what Baekhyun implies.

Baëkhyun blinks, gazing right at him. He’s haunted, horribly so. Baekhyun sees it in the bags beneath his eyes, in the tension lining his shoulders, in the tightness of his jaw. Baekhyun sees it because it is _familiar_. As familiar as looking into a mirror itself. “I’m still guarding you,” he says, uncharacteristically soft. “I’ll always guard you. Like you guard me.”

Baekhyun’s not meant to guard him. That hadn’t been the plan. Hadn’t been their purpose. Jongdae created them to be _shields_. To be _decoys_ so that the bullet might go through them and not _him_.

“I guard you?” Baekhyun wonders aloud, questioning him, asking him wherever he got _that_ idea?

“Why else would you check the cameras for me? Or, keep Jongdae from replacing me? Is that not guarding me? Wanting me not to be harmed.”

 _Why else_ if not because he cares. If not because he wants to protect _them_ as well.

***

The only reason Baekhyun is awake when he hears it is because Baëkhyun had thrashed awake some hours earlier and while _he’s_ gone back to sleep, Baekhyun’s still deep in thought. Mostly because all of his instincts tell him to _replace_ the clone. He’s not able to complete his purpose. His injuries are becoming _Baekhyun_ ’s injuries. Yet, at the very same time, Baekhyun just doesn’t think it’s fair. Doesn’t think that you can discard something that has given you utmost loyalty to the best of its ability. It’s not laziness that prevents Baëkhyun from working, now. It’s an injury, mental, yes, but one he’d developed whilst protecting Baekhyun, whilst experiencing _hell_ for Baekhyun.

So, that is why he’s awake, and his being awake makes Baëkhyun’s nightmare that night a blessing in disguise.

The sound is rather innocuous. It’s so soft as to be the sound of a pin dropping—nothing more, nothing less. Except, it’s out of place and startlingly so. Baekhyun _knows_ this house. Knows the appliances for their individual hum and rattles. Knows the windows and what birds come to tap their glass. Knows the neighbors a floor above and a floor below and all their noises and ruckuses.

This is none of those things.

“Bāekhyun,” he mutters, reaching over Baëkhyun and shoving the clone’s shoulder, hard enough to rouse him from sleep _and_ make it apparent that something’s afoot. When Bāekhyun’s eyes crack open, dark and hazy, they’re immediately questioning.

He hears the second noise—slightly louder, but harder to miss now that Baekhyun’s pulled a tension over the room—his growing fear becoming palpable in the dark.

He’s glad they’re no longer in the Gangnam high-rise apartment (though that building would have been more difficult to infiltrate). The escape route was more difficult there—required much more agility than Baekhyun was wholly convinced he had (at least, to execute in what would likely be in the dead of night, after groggily waking up). The apartment building they stay in now is only about four-stories, with their rental resting on the third floor.

The buildings next to them are smaller commercial businesses—the tallest of which is about two stories and part of an outlet mall—and all of them are packed together closely, much like sardines. It’s for these reasons that their _new_ apartment is easier to escape from (though it does still require a degree of dexterity).

“Go open the window. See that Baëkhyun’s out first,” he mutters, detaching himself from the clone. The movement wakes him, his grey eyes shooting open, instantly widening.

Any questions he has drown under the ensuing panic as he starts to put two-and-two together, watching as Baekhyun retrieves his pistol from the nightstand. Baëkhyun’s grip is vice-like, fingers curled, nails digging into Baekhyun’s thigh when he makes to swing his legs out of the bed. “What are you doing?” He hisses, voice trembling with concern and confusion.

Bāekhyun cracks open the bedroom window, poking his head outside for a quick scan around. “There’s two cars in the alley,” he mentions, pulling his head back before it can be spotted. “No sniper, though,” he mumbles. If there had been, his brains would have painted the opposite wall by now. There’s no reason to bide time when they have Baekhyun cornered—plus Bāekhyun is the clone that looks more like him, what with his dark hair and dark eyes.

Baekhyun grits his teeth and pries Baëkhyun’s hand off of him, squeezing it comfortingly on reflex. “I’m buying us some time. You’re going to go with Bāekhyun; I’m going to follow.”

Then he’s out of the bed and walking out of the bedroom, hugging the wall as he arrives in the apartment kitchen. He sets up his place there, waiting for the door to click open and give him a glimpse of his attackers before he shoots.

It does, only a minute later, and Baekhyun shoots through the wood with little preamble, reveling in the whoosh of breath from the opposite side of the door and the shout of surprise. He shoots twice more, then ducks back into the hall. And not a moment too soon, as the door slams open, thudding against the wall.

Another shot echoes through the apartment. Belatedly pain explodes in Baekhyun’s back, radiating through his shoulder and neck. He gasps, presses his free hand to the gaping exit wound, and stumbles.

A hand reaches out of the master bedroom and drags him inside the room. _Baëkhyun._ Bāekhyun steps just outside the threshold—waiting a half-second before shooting down the hall. There’s a wail of pain, but no thud of a corpse hitting the ground. They slam the bedroom door and deadbolt it.

Then, Bāekhyun dashes to and takes the bed frame in hand, dragging it across the floor until it barricades the door. He turns towards the open window. He’s dressed, shoes laced up, ready to leave. Baekhyun mimics his readiness, hurriedly pulling on _his_ shoes and clothes.

Then, Bāekhyun’s hauling himself up into the perch on the window. The roof of the building over is fairly close—only a short drop, a short width. He drops down without fear, rolling his landing. Then he gets up, crouching near the edge, and waits for the two of them to follow.

Baëkhyun helps Baekhyun into the window with trembling, anxious hands, mindful of his bleeding shoulder. Baekhyun’s less graceful when he jumps, and he’s definitely spotted by the cars beneath them, but he lands, nearly wailing at the pain that rockets through his shoulder upon his rolling impact. Baëkhyun follows only a few seconds later, face twisted in terror as he leaps across the alleyway, but filled with relief when he lands the jump.

They run after that, ducking behind air conditioning units and other roof-top obstacles—anything that obscures a view of them from the apartment they’ve left behind. They jump and drop from roof to roof, avoiding those few buildings with security patrols. And finally, they get to a point where they can drop down onto the street.

That’s when Baekhyun pulls out his phone, intimately aware of his injury and his vulnerability. He doesn’t want to call anyone in the organization, not even Jongdae, not right now. But there’s few people he trusts outside of it… except.

“Kyungsoo,” he breathes into the receiver. “Not to crash or anything, but I need a place to stay for the night. And someone to drive me to a hospital.”

Ten minutes later sees Kyungsoo picking him up, with wide, still sleep-bleary eyes, and an expression of concern and perhaps, ever so slightly, annoyance.

***

Kyungsoo watches the clones pick around his house with an air of discontent. This is his first time meeting them, though he’s heard of them from both Baekhyun and Jongdae. He’s clearly evaluating just how he should feel about them, because while they aren’t overbearing, they are a presence—one of curiosity and of anxiety, sifting through Kyungsoo’s things like Baekhyun might, as though it’ll give them a gleaning into his personality, into how much they can trust him.

“Another break-in?”

“Has to be an inside-job,” Baekhyun agrees, taking a bite of the fish Kyungsoo’s cooked up for him. His shoulder aches, but it’s been wrapped and treated. His hands still tremble weakly from the beginnings of shock. “We just moved into that apartment from the one in Gangnam. No one should have known about it.”

“Well, didn’t you say they were surveilling you?” Kyungsoo asks.

Baekhyun nods, “Yeah, but I was aware of that. Haven’t been out and about anywhere near there. Always took cars with heavy-tint. It should have taken them more time to find it. The transactions for the place weren’t even on the record. It should have been a null-point. A void.”

Kyungsoo hums, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table, eyes flicking back to the clones in time to watch Baëkhyun fumble a picture frame, nearly sending it to the ground. “Don’t touch,” he says sharply, voice washing over them. Both clones retract their hands, Bāekhyun walking over to the counter and taking a seat on one of the barstools while Baëkhyun makes for the couch. Kyungsoo sighs, returning his gaze to Baekhyun, “Who knew about it then? How’d you get the cars? I’m assuming they weren’t your personal vehicles since those are easy to track.”

Baekhyun pauses. “They’re Baekbeom’s. Or, the drivers were. I didn’t want to commission any of my regulars in case they were bugged or something.” Silence hangs heavy in the air. “Junmyeon offered me some files—courtesy Jongdeok—that incriminated my brother as well,” he says lightly, taking another bite of food.

“Could just be trying to cause a civil war. Brother against brother,” Kyungsoo murmurs. “I love Jongdae, doesn’t mean I don’t know his brother’s wanted you dead for years. Can you really trust something he appears to have given you out of the goodness of his heart?”

Baekhyun snorts, “No, but I did run the records myself. Baekbeom _has_ been misreporting his profits. Specifically those he gets through Jongdae and I’s brackets. Meaning he’s making _us_ look bad.” He sets his chopsticks down neatly and leans back in his chair, mulling over his options. “Look at it this way. Jongdeok manages to kill me and frame my brother. So, what?” He shrugs. “Mul Port is _ours_ for a reason. The Kims don’t know this place like we do. They’ll lose all of our connections, all of our allies, and they’ll have to start from scratch. Jongdeok will have to employ someone he _trusts_ here. Jongdae’s not going to bite—he wants nothing to do with management beyond the bracket he already leads.”

Kyungsoo nods, “Park Chanyeol’s too auxiliary for Jongdeok to trust him with Mul Port. He’s too hot-headed. Can’t run a place like the port, where people are constantly pushing your patience.”

“Minseok’s a traitor-come-back, so he cannot be trusted, and Junmyeon’s the fool who vouched for him,” Baekhyun says. “Neither of them can take over.”

“Yixing’s too loyal to you.” Kyungsoo continues, “And, Oh Sehun is too young, too shy.”

They lapse into silence. “Jongdeok wants me dead, but he’s not going to kill me, at least, not to frame my brother. He gains nothing by it. Similarly, in the off chance I _survive_ his hits and _do_ blame my brother—were I to retaliate, I only ascend to a position even more powerful. One he’ll remain hard-pressed to remove me from.”

“So, what does Baekbeom gain if it is him,” Kyungsoo supposes, agreeing now that it seems likely that Jongdeok’s not involved in whatever plot’s terrorizing Baekhyun, or at the very least, is not the ringleader.

“He absorbs _my_ contacts. Yixing’ll be loyal to him, Jongdae will be loyal to him. He knows Mul Port just as well as I do. He doesn’t have to worry about my finding out about his robberies. Can off me and be done with it. Jongdeok gets along with him, too, more than he does with me.”

“Say Jongdeok and Baekbeom are working together. Remove you, allow Baekbeom to take over your bracket,” Kyungsoo suggests. “Say he’s not _framing_ Baekbeom, just working together with him. I mean, who else knows that the evidence is working _against_ your brother.”

“Just you and, I suppose, Junmyeon,” Baekhyun says. “Makes more sense that way. Jongdeok doesn’t cut ties with my family completely, just rids himself of the most volatile member.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Kyungsoo wonders.

Baekhyun shrugs. “Could put hits out on both of them. Split Mul Port off again, break the organization in two. Bring it all back to the old days.” Back when his family and the Kims ran opposing brackets, always in competition with each other, always at each other’s throats. “Could bully Baekbeom into resuming his loyalty with me, and we stab Jongdeok in the back. Could just off Baekbeom and force Jongdeok to deal with me.”

Kyungsoo’s lip twitches, “As long as Jongdae’s not—“

“I’d never,” Baekhyun says smoothly. “I love him too, you know. Just not as much as I love myself.”

Kyungsoo holds his gaze, then nods, a slow incline of his chin. “I know that. I just…” he breathes out. “What are you going to do?”

“Going to gather information for a while. If Baekbeom’s actively working against me, which is the most plausible option right now… I’ll have to bury him, or run him off. I’m loyal, Kyungsoo. I don’t like lashing out at family.” Baekhyun turns, finding Bāekhyun’s gaze. He’s watching them with a lazy sort of interest. He’s the mercenary these days—was the one Baekhyun sent out to kill the last two in that group that had killed Baëkhyun temporarily. If Baekhyun wants his brother dead, it’ll be Bāekhyun to deliver the bullet.

“How long are you going to stay here?” Kyungsoo asks, then, “Jongdae’s supposed to be coming home tonight.” His warning’s clear, if Baekhyun doesn’t want Jongdae to know about his predicament, he’ll have to leave now. But Baekhyun’s tired enough not to care. He also knows Jongdae’s loyalty to Kyungsoo. This home will not be compromised.

“How long _can_ I stay?” Baekhyun asks instead.

Kyungsoo grins. “Reminds me of old times,” he murmurs, as though they were fifty and not thirty. “You can stay as long as you need. But stay here. I don’t want my house broken into, nor do I want to get shot in my sleep.”

“Of course,” Baekhyun murmurs. He stands and picks up his plate, rinsing it under the sink. Then, he leaves Kyungsoo to get back to work answering emails, and goes to see Baëkhyun, tugging Bāekhyun along with him.

Jongdae comes home later and immediately catches sight of them. Baekhyun sat on the couch with Baëkhyun in his lap, Bāekhyun sat just to the side. His eyes widen and then, they narrow suspiciously. “Soo, what’s Baekhyun and Co. doing in our house?” He questions, setting his keys down on the table and shrugging off his suit jacket, throwing it over the back of a chair, uncaring of the wrinkling that’ll set in.

“Another break-in,” Baekhyun explains. “We’re laying low for a while. Hope you don’t mind.”

Jongdae gapes. “You do all this chat about how good your security systems are, but this is the second home invasion that’s sent you scrambling.” He spies the bandages secured around Baekhyun’s chest and shoulder, eyebrows raising. “The second time one of you has been injured.”

Baekhyun hums, “Suppose I can’t trust the people I thought I could.”

“You don’t trust anyone,” Jongdae states, turning to plant a kiss on Kyungsoo’s lips. The sun should be rising sometime soon, and here they all are, none of them having slept. “You’re lucky Kyungsoo’s such a gracious host.”

“As if you wouldn’t let me loiter around at yours,” Baekhyun scoffs. Jongdae’s soft grin only confirms he would. “You two have a good night,” he bids, standing up, nudging Baëkhyun onto his feet as well. With a word of goodnight from both of their hosts, they retreat to the guest bedroom.

A few minutes later sees them all in bed, Baëkhyun curled against Baekhyun’s side, Bāekhyun laid on _his_ side, one arm strewn out over Baekhyun’s thigh. It’s quiet for a long while, no one talking. It’s the crumbling of all their earlier stresses, the crumbling of those walls of nonchalance they’d put up.

“You almost died,” Baëkhyun murmurs, tracing circles against Baekhyun’s chest. His heart patters where their skin connects, anxiety bubbling up to the surface.

Baekhyun hums, “But I’m okay,” he soothes, petting through Baëkhyun’s hair. “You were there to save me,” he breathes. It’s not like they’ve had close calls before—it’s not like Baekhyun hasn’t been attacked on their watch, but this is the first time it’s happened since Baëkhyun was revived. It’s the most brazen attempt on his life, since.

“What happens to us if _you_ die?” Bāekhyun asks, after a pregnant pause. “Are _you_ replaceable? Revivable?”

The question goes unanswered.

***

His wound grows to be more frustrating than genuinely worrying. Baekhyun _wants_ to confront his brother. And by confront, he means to run him off. Every day, Baekhyun collects more and more information pointing to Baekbeom’s involvement. As well as Jongdeok’s, but that was a given. It’s like Baekhyun was blind, and perhaps, he was. He’s never _liked_ Baekbeom, but he’s always trusted him to some degree. He’s _family_ , and Baekhyun’s nothing if not loyal to his blood.

This throws a wrench in that idea, though.

“You’re wound so tight,” Bāekhyun comments, looking up from one of the computers he’s been gaming on. Baekhyun arches a brow, pointedly looking at Bāekhyun’s clenched grip on the mouse. He frowns. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve worn a frown that could rival Junmyeon’s _since_ you sat down.”

“You’ve met Junmyeon once,” Baekhyun states, cherry-picking from Bāekhyun’s comment.

Baëkhyun snorts from the couch, busy playing a game of chess with himself—practicing for when Jongdae inevitably comes back home. “All he’s saying is that we can _feel_ the tension radiating off of you,” Baëkhyun murmurs. He pushes the chess board aside and walks over to the chair Baekhyun’s sat in, draping himself over the arm and back, carding his fingers through Baekhyun’s hair. “You should relax.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “I’m plenty relaxed,” he says. Baëkhyun’s really one to talk.

“We can always help,” Baëkhyun purrs a moment later, and though his tone layers _suggestion_ , beneath it, there’s a more candid emotion. _Affection_ , if Baekhyun were to be honest with himself. But that’s a dangerous thought.

“No, thank you,” Baekhyun states curtly, resuming his work on his computer. His contacts haven’t fluctuated much since his move underground, _but_ he’s making sure to keep in constant correspondence. The only way this could get more complicated is if Baekbeom moves to take control of his assets while Baekhyun’s trying to heal.

Baëkhyun hums and moves to kneel on the floor next to Baekhyun’s chair. It’s an innocent action, a desire to be close, for all Baëkhyun does is lay his head on Baekhyun’s thigh and massage his ankles, his touch soothing and grounding both.

Bāekhyun watches the exchange with an arched brow, but returns to gaming but a second later. He’s been working in Baekhyun’s stead a lot recently, taking on the part of going out and acting the part of the original. In this way, he’s actually worn down, grown more tired in the passing days—not only because of the new workload, but because he must deal with Baekhyun’s going stir-crazy back at home.

The door to the apartment opens and in waltzes Jongdae, his hair a mess, his shirt torn, his nose bleeding and a bruise forming on his chin. He’s got a rifle in hand as well, one of the high-tech ones that Baekhyun only ever sees strapped to mob bodyguards or corporate-funded police forces. He catches Baekhyun’s eye and gestures. “Get dressed. Meeting in an hour.”

“With?” Baekhyun asks, even if he stands, urging the two clones up to their feet as well.

“The Organization,” Jongdae says quite clearly. “You’re going to have to put your differences with Baekbeom aside for a time.” He glances at both clones. “What are you going to do about them?”

Baekhyun shakes his head and says to them, “Go put on makeup. I want the two of you looking pristine, like androids.”

They nod and disappear from the room, both making way for the bathroom. Baekhyun walks to the bedroom and begins shedding his clothes, changing them out for a crisp suit and polished shoes. “What’s going on? What happened to you?”

“Military police just tore through my casino,” Jongdae says, tone empty and cold. “Kyungsoo is thankfully out of the country right now.” He’s filming. Baekhyun remembers Jongdae leaving to drive him to the airport early this morning. He went to the Western Alliance, a mega-nation half-way inside the grave. “I managed to get out, as did most of my… important living associates.”

“But the droids and the cameras?”

“Nothing’s been wiped.”

“Do you want me to take your system down? How long ago did it happen?”

Jongdae frowns, “I don’t know how your slimy hands got in my system in the _first_ place, but yes. Get rid of any video footage before you handle the transaction records. The legal team’s already been notified and I’m already paying off departments in the force.”

Baekhyun hums, finishes buttoning up his shirt, and walks back to the main foyer, Jongdae tailing him. He picks up his phone and makes a call. His directives are plain and clear and promise rewards should each action be performed swiftly and properly. Then, he hangs up the phone. “The other halls?”

“I’ve closed them and repossessed their records. Physical records have been moved to a vault, digital records are going through an algorithm to determine their worth. Most are being deleted.”

“Good,” Baekhyun hums. “The meeting is about the military police, then? Do we know who’s buying their attention?”

“No,” Jongdae answers flatly.

The clones reappear, Bāekhyun with sharp, dark features, and Baëkhyun with the inverse. Both bear a stunning degree of artificiality, Baëkhyun even taking the time to decorate his face with a chain so as to conceal the scar running over it. With them ready, Baekhyun and Jongdae waste no time leaving—all of them packing into Kyungsoo’s car.

The drive out of the city, all the way to the coast. They are “late” to the meeting, but no one will start without them. So, when they step inside the _Seaglass Resort_ , and make their way to the conference room, everyone is still waiting, either smoking or drinking, an air of tension over the entire room.

Baekhyun’s gaze roves over everyone there. From New Seoul, there is Hyungnim Kim, Kim Junmyeon, Kim Minseok, Park Chanyeol, and Oh Sehun; from Mul Port, there is only he, Jongdae, and Baekbeom.

“Did you consciously fail to invite Zhang Yixing?” Baekhyun asks as he takes his seat—taking note of the fact that he’s got a view of both exits.

Neither Jongdeok nor Baekbeom answer, their gazes serious, unimpressed.

Baekhyun arches a brow. “He is my associate and runs half of Milae-pa’s sex bracket. Where is he?”

“He declined to come in,” Baekbeom murmurs. “Seems to be of the opinion that he does not answer to _us_.”

Baekhyun cocks his head, keying in on how the tension in the room continues to rise. Behind him, both Bāekhyun and Baëkhyun shift on their feet. Offering them a passing glance, Baekhyun notices the strictness of their expression, the tightness in their shoulders. They are not pleased, are picking up on the danger in this situation just as Baekhyun is.

“Are you suggesting something?” Baekhyun asks, leaning forward in his seat. His gaze narrows dangerously. “Perhaps questioning my loyalty?”

The more timid, non-confrontational members of the organization look away (Junmyeon and Sehun), but the others seem curious as to how things will unfold.

Jongdeok shakes his head, “No, not currently,” and smoothes over the prickling hatred in the room. “We’re going to talk about the recent attack on my brother’s casinos.”

 _Recent—_ he says, as though it’s been a couple of days and not a couple of hours.

Park Chanyeol is questioned first, as head of weapons trafficking in New Seoul. Jongdae describes the militech, wants to get a handle on what he’s working with. Chanyeol answers the questions with ease. He may be prideful and competitive, but he, like the rest, is loyal to the bone. “What were their uniforms like?” He asks.

Jongdae describes men all too familiar with Baekhyun. Military operatives, yes, but… there’s one descriptor he uses that makes Baekhyun twitch and look up, eyebrows raised. “You described Port Police,” Baekhyun says. “Military, but supposedly sectioned to the river.” He cocks his head. “Normally, I’ve got them paid off.”

The meeting pauses as that’s taken in. It’s not that Jongdeok or anyone else wouldn’t have _eventually_ figured out what specific branch was targeting the casinos, it’s just that, since they don’t deal with the ports, they don’t immediately catch it.

“Why would Port Police go into the inner-city? They are _port_ police, it’s in the name?” Junmyeon wonders.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Baekhyun says. “I imagine because they have an issue with someone relating to the ports, _or_ because they were paid by someone who works with the ports.” He motions to Jongdeok. “If you get me a computer I can bring up my last transaction records and correspondences with them, as well as my associates. We can start hunting your rat now.”

Oh Sehun taps his fingers on the tabletop. “You are incriminated also, aren’t you? You just admitted that you work with them closely.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Baekhyun drawls. “I’m offering information that’s helpful to tracking a source. If I were the guilty party, I’d never _help_ you reach a conclusion.”

Baekbeom steeples his fingers and leans forward, interested. “How long have _you_ been working with the port police?” Because really, Baekhyun’s not _meant_ to be. Baekbeom is the one who tugs those strings.

Baekhyun doesn’t deign to answer.

“Get him a computer,” Jongdeok orders, and then he sets his attention on the rest of those at the meeting, questioning people one by one, seeing where they were, what they were doing. He’ll put out a request for their books soon, too, and peruse them for payments made (or failed to be made).

A laptop, one of the high-grade, militech computers, is set on the table in front of him. Baekhyun offers a quick glance to the android who delivers it, and then focuses on booting it up and logging it onto his servers. Though, the very first thing he does, is sweep it for any third-party apps. He doesn’t want his servers in Baekbeom’s hands, much less in Jongdeok’s.

Several minutes later sees him pulling up his transaction records. He offers them up for Jongdeok’s perusal—and peruse he does. The computer then goes to Junmyeon, who checks over the logs. He too nods his head, giving Baekhyun a cursory approval. “He checks out,” Junmyeon murmurs. “At least, on the surface. I don’t have the books with me to actually compare, but it does look accurate.”

“Pull up Zhang Yixing’s,” Jongdeok orders.

But Yixing’s records check out as well, for the most part. The only mysterious purchase is on one of his personal accounts. Baekhyun has to track it, but upon doing so, is able to clear Yixing’s as well—that last purchase is a one-off hitman payment, it doesn’t have any correlation to the port police or their raid on Jongdae’s casino.

Jongdeok names several other names, but all of the bosses check out. Chanyeol’s purchases are the curious type, bringing a half-smile to Baekhyun’s lips, and Sehun’s are similar.

He’s checks Jongdae’s personal transactions, but they are clear as well (as Baekhyun had expected, and, were they not, he’d not have raised the alarm anyways. Jongdae is his friend, and he’s loyal to the grave). Minseok and Junmyeon are similarly clean.

Leaving Jongdeok and Baekbeom.

Baekhyun fixes his gaze on the both of them. “Would you like me to sift through your transactions as well?”

Jongdeok nods with a curled lip but no real _distress._ And so, Baekhyun goes through his first. His records are… less clean than the others in that money is flowing more frequently—hitman, clean up crews, blackmail—but there’s nothing that suggests he’d ordered the attack on his brother’s wealth.

Baekhyun relays this information and then sets to work on Baekbeom’s accounts.

It’s Baekbeom he’s able to connect a payment from, but… because it’s Baekbeom, Baekhyun lies. “I don’t see anything here, either,” Baekhyun murmurs. He closes out of his programs and wipes the computer. For good measure, he then opens up the back and divests the device of its motherboard, dropping it to the ground and crushing it beneath his heel.

Jongdeok follows the motion, but says nothing. Baekhyun wonders if he knows. Wonders if he’ll let Baekhyun handle his brother on his own, or if he’s going to cause issues. He lets the sleeping dog lie, moving on to cover other business. He gives directives as to further securing their shipments and business, running through different protocal and scenarios. Baekhyun loses interest quickly, reserving himself to his thoughts.

It’s only once the room lapses into silence that he comes back to the present. Jongdeok’s gaze is fixed on him, steely. Baekhyun arches a brow, “Did you say something?”

“I asked where you’ve been,” he repeats, voice a low growl.

Jongdae looks away, doesn’t want a part in this.

“Underground,” Baekhyun states, tongue silvery and loyal. He’s not going to mention Kyungsoo, nor will he mention Jongdae. He doesn’t want to get them caught in his own trials and tribulations. “I’ve had two attempts on my life recently. Close ones. Though, I’ve been handling them privately.”

“Do you think them connected to the casino raid?”

“Perhaps,” Baekhyun says, tone light. Junmyeon and Jongdeok both raise a brow at this, and for good reason. Both of them are under the impression that the hits put out on Baekhyun are connected to his brother. If they draw the necessary conclusions, then they’ll figure out Baekbeom is also involved with the casino raid.

“Curious,” Jongdeok murmurs, relaxing against the back of his seat. “How is tracking your attackers going?”

“The two hit-crews have been taken care of,” Baekhyun divulges. “I’m currently tracing their contacts.”

“All of their contacts?”

Baekhyun hums, his upper lip twitching briefly in annoyance. That’s not an honest question, rather, it’s a jibe at him. It’s calling into question whether or not Baekhyun will be handling his own brother or not. “Of course, _Hyungnim_.” He taps his finger against his ankle, thoughtful. “The organization is my mother, and you my brother~”

Baekbeom can’t meet his gaze, but his jaw is set tensely like he understands he has been caught. Perhaps he’ll be so gracious as to make things simple.

“Is that all? As much as I enjoy watching Baekhyun questioned, I have business to take care of,” Chanyeol interrupts, his voice crisp and rumbly. Sehun also rises, his form lithe and graceful as it leaves the chair.

“You’re dismissed~” Jongdeok agrees, waving them out. His gaze follows them as they leave the room, and then, it turns to his younger brother. “You still trust him, I imagine?” He asks, gesturing towards Baekhyun.

“With my life.”

“Then I’ll set aside my differences. For now… catch my rat, Baekhyun.” Jongdeok’s gaze leaves Baekhyun’s and moves over his shoulder, where both clones stand.

“Of course~” Baekhyun purrs, feeling _accomplished._ Not only has he cleared himself, but he’s found irrefutable proof of his brother’s involvement. And if it was that easy for Baekhyun to find, then really, Baekbeom _deserves_ to take the fall.

He rises from the conference table—Jongdae mirroring him. He does not offer any word of departure. He merely leaves.

***

“Did you lie?” Jongdae asks, a while later, when they are back at his and Kyungsoo’s shared flat. “I saw your lip twitch while you were going over your brother’s records.”

Baekhyun rolls his shoulder, easing the pain, the knots of tension. Baëkhyun watches the movement, concern flickering across his face ever so briefly. Baekhyun ruffles his hair and then says, “Of course. Baekbeom’s mine to deal with, not your brother’s—with all respect.”

Bāekhyun cocks his head. “Yours or mine to deal with?” He teases. He is the assassin, after all. The hand on the trigger. The scope, the aim, the shot.

“Mine,” Baekhyun murmurs, tone light. “This is personal. You are not his brother, but I am.” He reaches for his phone and waggles it for Jongdae to see. “I have him tracked. I’ll be confronting him this evening or the next. What help do you still need with the casinos?”

So, they begin to work together. Over the net, the redirect employees and pay off detectives. Meanwhile, Baëkhyun and Bāekhyun leave the room to go wash the make-up from their faces. Passingly, Baekhyun thinks they’re unsettled by having to take on that “artificial” look. But, if it protects them, then Baekhyun can’t really _care_. It has to be done.

“Does your brother know what they are?”

“No,” Jongdae says. He lets them lapse back into silence. Then, “What are you going to do about your brother? I know you floated having to take care of him a while ago. Has anything changed?”

“I’m not sure. It depends on how things go when I confront him, no?”

“I suppose.”

The clones return to the room. Baëkhyun immediately seeks Baekhyun’s company, draping his arms over Baekhyun’s shoulders and peering at his computer screen quietly. Bāekhyun glances their way, but ends up taking a separate seat at the table, setting a rifle down atop it to begin cleaning.

Jongdae casts the weapon a wary look, but doesn’t reprimand. Not that Bāekhyun would listen to him _anyway_.

“Are you going to take them with you?” Jongdae wonders, cocking his head. He closes his laptop screen and sits back, folding his ankle over his knee comfortably.

“Should I?” Baekhyun glances at them, none too interested in having _either_ endangered.

Jongdae sighs. “They are bodyguards. Or have you forgotten?”

Baëkhyun notices Baekhyun’s discomfort—he always does. His hand smoothes over Baekhyun’s jaw—gentle, soothing. “Take us,” he breathes, little more than a whisper. “We’ll protect you.”

There’s an unsaid _“we can’t lose you”_ in his tone, in his meaning.

“I haven’t,” Baekhyun murmurs. “I’ll take them with me.”

He can feel Jongdae’s gaze fixed on him, and yet, he doesn’t look. He _knows_ what expression his friend’s wearing, but he won’t confirm it. He can’t see that disappointment, that judgement, and keep his nerve.

Jongdae’s phone rings, breaking his attention. He answers it, murmurs into the receiver, and then, stands, pushing his chair back. Three identical gazes track his movement curiously. “Kyungsoo heard about the casino. He’s flown back in. I’m going to pick him up from the airport.” He regards Baekhyun carefully. “Don’t do anything stupid. Hear me?”

“Yes~” Baekhyun drawls, watching him leave with a dark, indeterminate sort of gaze.

The door clicks shut, and so, Baekhyun turns—fixing Bāekhyun in his sights.

The clone’s staring right back at him. “You should go sooner rather than later,” he says.

Baekhyun nods, “Don’t want to give him time to prepare.”

“He already knows you’re coming~” Baëkhyun adds, nails scraping across Baekhyun’s skin. He draws back, stepping away. He’s still dressed as cleanly as he’d been earlier—Bāekhyun similar. They _are_ ready to leave.

But…

“You’ll manage, even if something happens?” Baekhyun asks, looking over his shoulder at Baëkhyun.

“For you.” Baëkhyun states simply, his gaze full of meaning, plush lips pushed into a pout. He’s serious. Will go to the grave for Baekhyun, even after his experiences.

“Then, let’s leave.” Baekhyun stands, gathering the keys to Kyungsoo’s extra car and his pistol. Bāekhyun slings his rifle into the ‘hasty carry’ position and goes to stand at the door. Baëkhyun fetches a sniper rifle and scope. He looks for Baekhyun’s approval and gets it in the form of a nod. “See that you set up in the Western Warehouse. It should have a view into Baekbeom’s port-office,” Baekhyun murmurs. He keeps quiet that it’s likely Baekbeom won’t go anywhere without bulletproof glass; Baëkhyun’s help shouldn’t be needed. Not imperatively.

So, they leave, slinking out of the apartment like cats. Baekhyun retrieves a sleek, sporty celebrity-style car from the garage and then, they are on their way, quiet and apprehensive.

Mul Port is as it typically is. In that it is wet, dreary, and bustling—even so late at night. Robots and androids alike move merchandise across the shipyard. Humans oversee them, or labor alongside them.

And Baekhyun drives past them all.

He’s stopped near the fourth sector—in which the Byun’s operate—however, after rolling down his window, he’s waved through. He doesn’t know if Baekbeom’s set out an order to keep him _out_ , but at this point… Baekhyun is as powerful, is as feared as his brother in these parts. If not more so.

Anything Baekbeom does to rip power from him now has been exacted too late.

Baekhyun parks and points to one of the merchandising warehouses. “Set up there, Baëkhyun. We’ll wait five~”

Baëkhyun immediately jogs off, careful to keep out of any living person’s view. He won’t be able to avoid the security cameras, but… hopefully everything will be over with before Baekbeom can send anyone out to hurt him.

Outside, he and Bāekhyun sit against the hood of the car—at ease, lazy and intimidating. Baekbeom’s tracker places him inside his office and, given that he hasn’t sent anyone out to fetch his brother, Baekhyun thinks he’s counting on some blood loyalty.

And there _will_ be some sense of loyalty. Baekhyun intends to let him run. Doesn’t want to kill him. Unless he has to.

“Come on,” Baekhyun murmurs, crooking his finger. “He should be set up by now.”

The android manning the door lets them pass without consequence. Baekhyun takes his time walking inside, his path to the upstairs office quiet (as it typically is). But… something feels off. After the meeting earlier, Baekhyun would expect more… difficulty.

This all seems too easy. There is no challenge.

He pushes open Baekbeom’s office door and pauses.

Baekbeom’s phone lies on the desk, but the chair behind the desk is empty.

“What the fuck?” Baekhyun whispers, eyebrows furrowing. He takes another step inside the room, looking around, his hand feeling for his pistol.

A shot rings out. He hears a gasp of pain, and then, the _slumping_ sound of someone falling. The trigger’s pulled again, just when Baekhyun turns.

He’s glad Bāekhyun crumples to the side, out of view from his place beyond the door’s threshold. It’s not like it was the first time one of the clones fell. No… this _hurts_ , an anxious feeling that sits in the pit of his stomach like lead. Baekhyun grips his pistol, brandishes it threateningly, and waits.

The figure that comes to stand in the doorway doesn’t even blink an eye.

It can’t. It’s an android—chrome, copper, and silicone, but nothing more.

Baekhyun takes another step back, face blank, struggling to keep his fear intact. Bāekhyun’s silent where he lies behind the wall. He must be dead. There’s no other explanation.

Baekbeom appears in the doorway behind his android, his gaze just as cold as Baekhyun remembers it being. “I had heard these things weren’t as robotic as they seemed,” Baekbeom says, gaze flicking to the body in the hallway. “I’m surprised it’s the truth.” He presses the toe of his shoe to the pool of dark red blood seeping across the floor.

It’s _mocking_ , and yet, Baekhyun can’t say a word. He’s not even angry, yet. Only shocked. Worried, too—there is still Baëkhyun to worry about.

“I’m putting you down,” Baekbeom continues, gaze returning to Baekhyun’s. “I don’t tolerate having a rat do business behind my back.” He doesn’t wait for Baekhyun to rebuke him. He’s never been one to toy with his food.

This third shot rings out loud and clear.

***

Baekhyun wakes up _cold_ and _hateful_. The door in front of him slides open and the cool fog of the capsule rolls out from around him, filling the very familiar underground lab. Jongdae steps in front of the open door and offers Baekhyun a hand. Baekhyun allows it, grasping onto him and letting him usher him out of the capsule and into a seat at the table.

He sits there in silence, gradually coming back to his senses. He smells of river water, and his clothes are still damp—cold and sticking to his frame. “He threw me in the river?” He rasps, voice thick with disuse.

Jongdae nods, seems afraid to talk—wary that the Baekhyun he’s brought back isn’t _Baekhyun_.

And perhaps it’s not. Baekhyun hasn’t ever felt this empty. Nor has he felt this invincible—which is a curious thought, considering he’s just died and been revived.

He looks around the room. The other pod is active—likely reviving Bāekhyun. Which leaves Baëkhyun as the only enigma. “Where’s the other?” Baekhyun asks, cocking his head. His hair hangs stringily in front of his eyes. Must add to the whole aura of unkemptness about him.

“My men just found him,” Jongdae says, tone careful and light. “I won’t be able to salvage him. Not all of him, at least. It’ll be a reset.”

“You’ll use the same conditions as you did when you first created him, no?”

Jongdae nods in confirmation. “I suppose it’s a question of what makes a person: environment or genetics.” He sits back, wringing his hands together. He’s so nervous. So nervous when confronted by the dead made living.

Baekhyun waves at the shelf. “Chess?”

Jongdae sighs in relief and pulls out the board, setting up the pieces. “How did everything happen?”

“Tracker was accurate apart from the fact that Baekbeom was already wise to it,” Baekhyun murmurs. “Had an android kill us both,” he explains, motioning at the active pod. Jongdae tracks the movement and makes a hum of understanding. “Said he was putting me down for working behind his back.” At this, Baekhyun feels a laugh bubble over. He can’t help it. “He has no idea~”

“How great is your influence?” Jongdae asks.

“I’ll pry Mul Port from his cold, dead hands,” Baekhyun says, making the first move on the board. “And, forgive me for saying it, but I’ll be prying it from Jongdeok’s as well. I know better than to work with someone like him.”

“Then who will you work with?”

“No one.” At least, no one but himself. “I have no one left to trust. Tell me, what have my allies done in the wake of my death? How much time has passed?”

“It’s been a week. I had to change some settings to bring _you_ back,” Jongdae explains. “Zhang Yixing is running his own business. He’s made no effort to contact the organization.” He moves on, listing out a few more names. Most of whom have either fallen into the fold alongside Baekbeom or Jongdeok. “ _Your_ empire is quiet, not that anyone’s really sure what it was to begin with.”

“Androids,” Baekhyun answers. “Gathered information through them. Yixing’s privy to _some_ of the dealings. The rest is merely a game of wit, of charism. It’s knowing who to pay off and for how much. It’s knowing who to threaten and who to sweet talk.” He shrugs, captures one of Jongdae’s pawns. “My empire leeched off of every other one. It was never something solid, never quite defined.”

“It should be easy to pick up where you left off, then.”

“Indeed.” He quiets down again, watches as Jongdae chases him across the board. They exchange pieces quickly, both of them focused, both of them tense from the happenings. “When my family ran the ports, we dealt in weapons, drugs, and sex. That’s three branches for three people.” Baekhyun motions to the pod.

“No place for me?”

“Take over Milae-pa,” Baekhyun murmurs. “And I’ll give you an alliance in blood. I’m not having a thing to do with your brother, though.”

Jongdae hums, and says nothing to the idea. “Baëkhyun doesn’t seem like the type to rule.”

“Oh?”

“He’s too obsessed with you,” Jongdae explains. “Bāekhyun was better at hiding it, but Baëkhyun?” He shakes his head. “He’ll never handle power on his own. He’ll never be independent.” He captures Baekhyun’s rook. “I’ll cut ties with my brother. Fold my casinos, my rackets, my personal branch of the organization into yours.”

Anyone else, Baekhyun would say no to. But, Jongdae has a point, and he’s the only person Baekhyun would hesitate to trust, even with their rocky past.

“So, you handle the drug bracket? I’ll continue with the android sex bracket. Leaving Bāekhyun the weapons?”

“He’ll be pleased to take it over. You already know.”

Baekhyun hums, his lip twitching to the barest hint of a smile. “Jongdeok won’t stand for it.”

“If he wants to attack us, then you can kill him,” Jongdae says, holding Baekhyun’s gaze over the chess board. He moves his queen. _Checkmate_. “Call it a deal, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun grins, as delighted as it is venomous. “Deal.”

Yet, for all his bravado in front of Jongdae, it _crumbles_ at the first sight of Bāekhyun emerging from the pod, an hour or so later. Baekhyun’s breath _shakes_ as it wheezes past his lips—his eyes wide, searching for any semblance of recognition in the clone’s eyes. And he finds it, alongside a fear just as cold, just as familiar as Baekhyun’s own.

“Where’s Baëkhyun?”

Baekhyun only shakes his head. “He’s being remade.” Jongdae is outside right now, receiving the clone’s body. He’ll clean it up and put it back in a pod to be reassessed and redesigned. “Reviving him twice wasn’t…” he trails off. “It won’t fair well on his mind. Especially since he took the first one so badly.” Baekhyun’s prepared to have to reason further, but Bāekhyun only nods and collapses into the chair opposite him.

His body _slumps_ , tired. It’s a deep-seated fatigue. One born from defeat. “It hurts.”

Baekhyun understands. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he _means_ it. He shouldn’t have continued to use them in the same way he had before they _were_ something. From the moment they’d acted _human_ , from the moment they had had personality? He ought to have shielded them from the world’s rebuke. Not because he doesn’t think they are capable, but because he owed it to himself to _treat_ himself better, kinder, gentler.

And that won’t happen now.

Not when he needs revenge. Not when he needs to set the world on fire in order to make it safe for himself once more.

When Jongdae returns to the room, he seems to sense that something has changed. “I won’t be able to get Baëkhyun back until tomorrow at the earliest, but even that would be rushing.”

“Take your time,” Both he and Bāekhyun say in tandem. They stand up.

Baekhyun continues, “I think I’m going to take him… home.”

“Where’s home?” Jongdae immediately cuts in, cocking his head.

Baekhyun hums, “One of my places near the port. Baekbeom doesn’t know about it and I haven’t been there in a decade.” He pictures the place in his mind. It’s ramshackle compared to what he’s been able to live in elsewhere, _but_ it’s private. And now, he has nothing to lose. It’s not like Baekbeom’s going to go out looking for a dead man. “I’ll call you if I need anything. Is my motorcycle still here?”

“Yeah. In the garage. I had her fixed up for you.”

Baekhyun smiles, “Thanks,” and with that, he’s leaving. Bāekhyun goes with him, following him to the bike, and climbs on it after him, his arms circling Baekhyun’s middle. They brush over the place where his scar lies, evidence of the crash that happened a few years ago. The clones never did ask about it. Never asked about any of his scars.

Perhaps they knew he didn’t like being reminded of his mortality.

They drive home safer than Baekhyun normally would on the bike, and they ditch the bike a few blocks away from the port, walking the remainder of the journey.

Baekhyun doesn’t want anything linked to him outside his home. Doesn’t want to give Baekbeom even the inkling that he is still alive. Doesn’t want Jongdeok to know either.

Inside, the apartment smells of dust. It’s not been used in ages. Baekhyun leaves the lights flicked off, casting his blazer over the back of a chair. Bāekhyun walks past him, wordlessly exploring the place.

A few minutes later, Baekhyun hears the shower faucet turn on, and so he makes his way over, stripping off his damp clothes outside the curtain before he moves it aside and steps into the tub with Bāekhyun.

Immediately, they lean into one another, the water cascading over their shoulders.

They can’t bother with the petty games right now. Not when Baëkhyun’s absence sits over them like a dark cloud. Not when they’re both so numb, so pained.

Baekhyun presses a kiss to Bāekhyun’s shoulder. One, then another, and another. Rarely has he shown Bāekhyun attention like this. Normally, Baëkhyun takes center stage. Normally, Bāekhyun wants to play hard to get—he wants to challenge.

Not now.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Better than both of us. He won’t remember, though.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. It’ll be a new start.”

Silence, only the sound of the water pattering against their skin and draining beneath them. Baekhyun draws back after a beat, reaching over to grab a bar of soap. He soaps up his hands and then Bāekhyun’s back and shoulders, smoothing his hands over his skin, kneading over his flesh with a gentle sort of tenderness.

Bāekhyun’s similarly gentle, fingers dancing around the remnants of Baekhyun’s bullet wound, along the scars on his side, along the tattoo on his back. “We should kill him before Baëkhyun’s revived,” Bāekhyun murmurs, voice barely audible over the faucet.

“We will,” Baekhyun says, agreeing. It would be cruel to put the recreated clone right back into the thick of things. And… quietly, Baekhyun thinks that both of them want to preserve what they can of Baëkhyun. Keep him from suffering the same distress as he had previously.

He lets that thought hang in the air, fingertips digging more firmly into Bāekhyun’s skin. And Bāekhyun matches his intensity, his _need_ to both be in control and to give it all up. Their kiss feels like longing—a moment of stillness amidst the storm—and possession–the need to own and be owned, to trust and consume completely.

And later, when they’re curled together, blanket pulled over their heads so as to protect from the terrors in the shadows, Baekhyun wonders how he ever considered replacing him.

***

There is no glamour to tracking Baekbeom down. He’s lazy now that he believes Baekhyun to be dead. And so, it’s easy for Baekhyun to find him and kill him. It’s a clean shot, one without show, without suffering. Bāekhyun is with him during the kill, in case there was a need for backup, but there is not.

Baekbeom’s guards fold immediately. Why risk your life for the dead, after all? Especially if the killer is the heir to the business all the same. They’re unnerved by him, by the design of the kill. It’s _too_ clean, _too_ inhuman. They wonder if Baekhyun is more like his androids than he is like them.

Baekhyun doesn’t have time to dwell on their perception of him.

“You’ll go get Baëkhyun?” He asks, walking around Baekbeom’s desk and settling into his seat. Bāekhyun nods, rolling back his shoulders as though a weight has been lifted from them. And it has. With Baekbeom’s death, Baekhyun has just become the top-dog—the winner in the pit. Who will threaten them but Jongdeok? If Jongdeok even can, for a war with Mul Port is foolish.

“Yes, and you’re?”

“Going to take care of business. Bring him back here. Tell Jongdae that my brother’s been taken care of. Ask if he’s still interested in doing the same~”

“Of course,” and Bāekhyun peels away, slinking into the hallway, leaving behind an air of arrogance. Controlled arrogance, for he and Baekhyun finally have that _link_ , that true understanding of one another, but arrogance all the same.

In the while he is gone, Baekhyun makes calls. He reconvenes with his business partners and betrays nothing of what has happened beyond the fact that his brother is out of the picture. And people listen, they pledge loyalty, they move on—for any man who’ll go after his brother has no qualms going after them.

Baekhyun’s glad, though, when he hears two sets of footsteps, perhaps an hour or two later. He’s drained from making the calls, from hearing over and over how surprised some of his “allies” are to know he’s alive. His trust has not been repaired, only torn down worse.

But, at least he has them.

Both of them, as they round the corner and enter the warehouse office.

Bāekhyun makes his way to the desk and sits himself half-atop it, lazy, relaxed, and at ease with Baekhyun. Baëkhyun, though, he lingers near the doorway—taking in the environment and the person inside.

For a moment, Baekhyun is uneasy. He’s not sure if he’s ready for a new Baëkhyun, one unlike the other. But then, he catches a glint in the clone’s eye, a slight furrowing of the brow, and thinks that perhaps… not all is lost.

He need only give it time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much reading, and do let me know if you enjoyed! I feel like the end sort of rolls in as one super quick blow, but honestly I’ve been sitting on this story forever and just wanted to be done with it LOL. 
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/syzygybbh) | [CuriousCat](https://t.co/KYC8gCVmPh?amp=1)
> 
> And, one last time—the lovely header art was commissioned from [res / ffrshfrnd](https://twitter.com/ffrshfrnd)!


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